


Unmixable

by AlterEgon



Category: Elemental Masters - Mercedes Lackey, Napoleonic Era RPF
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Elemental Masters, Gen, Magic, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 153,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/pseuds/AlterEgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Peninsular War. With Elemental Magic involved.<br/>John Colborne had never even considered the possibility of magic being part of his world. Suddenly faced with the full-blown powers of a Water Master, he has to find a way to harness that power and learn to use it - a feat not made any easier by the fact that there is only Fire around to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silverfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfox/gifts).



The pain swelled and ebbed, but had learned to ride out most of its waves without betraying them on his face.

While it never went away entirely, at times it would dull enough to allow him to nap – at least until some half-asleep movement stoked the fire burning in his shoulder and arm again, making the pain flare up and encompass his mind – all thought of sleep forgotten.

He gingerly ran his left hand over his right upper arm and shoulder, never actually touching the bandages.

He could feel the heat radiating out from there anyway, infection running rampant in his wounds once again. Like the pain, it came and went, though at longer intervals, brought back by the surgeons' renewed attempts to dig out the ball that was still stuck in his arm.

At times, especially when a particularly heavy-handed man was working on him and all he wanted to do was to scream out with the pain that he held back so carefully, he came close to yelling at them to just take the entire arm and be done with it.

He didn't, of course, and not because he had overheard one surgeon counselling another against taking that step now. In his current state, the shock and blood loss of an amputation through the shoulder joint would likely kill him.

No, his reasons were different.

For one thing, amputation was a necessary evil after some injuries, but to _ask_ for it after the fact to avoid the pain of treatment didn't come close to being acceptable.

For another, the restrictions of the stiff shoulder that he had been told he would keep once his injuries healed – if ever, he couldn't help mentally inserting there – would be bad enough. He wanted to keep the use of his right hand if he could.

With an exercise of will, he kept himself from opening and closing that hand to convince himself that he still could. Only a fool would deliberately give himself even more pain.

Sometimes, at night, he wondered if it actually mattered that much.

He gave in to the pain at night, when silent tears flowed down his cheeks as he tried to lie unmoving until the pain subsided enough to allow him to doze.

Unfortunately, the few positions in which he could find any rest at all were not the most natural, and once he drifted into anything resembling sleep, it didn't take long before his body shifted and the red-hot lance of pain stabbed through his arm jerking him wide awake again.

The nights were also bad for another reason.

Alone with himself in a darkness hardly broken by the small fire that was supposed to keep the room warm, in silence interrupted only now and then by the sounds of the other wounded suffering in other rooms and reminding him that he was not alone in his pain – that some were, in fact, suffering more than he was – it became more and more evident that even his mind was breaking under the strain of his physical injuries.

It had started with a glimpse of movement that was not there in a water bucket. Another time, he had thought that he had seen the image of a tiny woman in the water, wearing nothing but long, tangled green-tinged hair.

He had almost laughed at that, if laughing wouldn't have jostled his shoulder too much. If his mind was trying to distract him from his pain by supplying a sufficiently inspiring female, it should have at least provided one that was of the right size.

It hadn't ended with the half-transparent woman in the water, though. Since then, he had seen glimpses of things that did not exist now and then, creatures that were not insects in the air, dashing around the physicians and sadly shaking their heads over their work on him; little things that detached themselves from the beaten earth floor to scurry around the room.

Of those, some had mouths with too many teeth in them and leered up at him as if contemplating him as a particularly tasty snack.

They never touched him, never even touched the bed, really, but they sent cold shivers down his spine nevertheless.

And they didn't even exist.

Apparently unwilling to leave out anything, his tired, fevered mind provided even more creatures that no one but him could see: writhing little things that were vaguely lizard-shaped sitting in the flames of his fire. Their forked tongues flicked in and out of their muzzles, and they looked him over with all the curiosity of a cat pondering over a mouse in a trap.

He closed his eyes against the madness and willed his mind away from the hallucinations. He needed to get home and heal. They would go away then, he was sure. They would go away the moment he could sleep, really, truly, deeply sleep instead of napping in intervals of a few minutes, waiting for the next day to arrive.

 

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Smith stood by the water's edge and looked out over the motionless surface.

Something was wrong here. He suppressed a sigh as he strained to catch sight of an elemental out there, hoping that the very identity of whatever he would see would offer a hint as to what exactly was wrong.

He was out of luck.

A fire master himself, he was not on the best of terms with the elementals of water to begin with.

On another day, such a thought might have made him chuckle. For a fire master, some would have said, he was incredibly well acquainted with the water elementals.

In the past, he had even been known to venture into the waves of the _sea_ and come out un-drowned.

With a fond smile, he remembered those days when, after they had both been injured, George Simmons had dragged him along to the beach.

*

"Come on in," Simmons shouted at him from the water.

Harry looked at his friend uncertainly. Simmons seemed to be doing well enough in there, but it _was_ an awful lot of water, and water and fire did not mix well.

Or at all.

The other man had made straight for the waves, discarding his crutches as soon as they got close enough to the water for the footing to become too treacherous to balance on them, half-stumbling and half-crawling into the sea until the water got deep enough to carry him.

Harry remained standing on the beach. He had discarded his shirt but was still in trousers and boots, and feeling particularly reluctant to take off the latter.

Simmons' wound may have been in the thigh, but his was right above the heel, and he did not fancy having to clean sand out of it once they were back at their lodgings.

The son of a surgeon, Harry had something of an idea that it was helpful to keep a wound clean. Of course, one could have argued that a wound with the ball still stuck inside was never, per se, clean.

So far, the approach to 'keep it clean' had worked well enough for him in any case. Where others with his kind of injury had been known to lose limbs, his foot, while exquisitely painful and, at times, still bleeding through the bandages and staining his clothes, was at least clean of infection or rot. He wanted to keep it that way.

Fire master that he was, he took extra care to cleanse the wound with the heat of his magic every time it dared show any signs of giving him those additional problems – a procedure that left him gritting his teeth and shaking with pain as he hung on to his focus in order to clean out any contamination without scorching the skin around it. He was sure that that kind of accident would have been very interesting to explain to the surgeons once they got around to digging the ball out of his heel.

Simmons, surgeon-educated that he was, claimed that salt water did wonders for keeping a wound clear of inflammation, and it seemed to be working for him.

Nevertheless, the endless expanse of water in front of him would have been daunting even if Harry had not had the sandy stretch of beach before him to worry about.

Water and fire were antagonists, and he could just imagine the myriads of elemental creatures that would be unwilling to share their sea with a fire master. He did not want to make history as the man who drowned two steps away from shore.

"Thanks," Harry called back. "I think I'll pass."

George laughed as he swam out into that vast body of water that made Harry queasy just thinking about it ,then turned and worked his way back towards him.

"It's really quite safe," he claimed. "See?"

"For you it may be." Harry frowned at the undines and naiads crowding around Simmons, playing in the water without harming him and looking quite ready to step in and give him a hand if he misjudged his strength. "But you forget what I am. I may as well just shoot myself if I go in there." He made a vague gesture indicating the elementals.

The other man dove and came back up in the middle of them, as if to prove that they were perfectly safe to be around. "They won't harm you!" he claimed.

"You meant they won't harm _you_." Harry started looking around for a log or stone to sit on. He had to get off of that foot, which was making itself known rather violently by now.

"They promise not to hurt you," Simmons told him. "Now get out of those boots and come on in."

The fire master shook his head. "And who's to make sure they keep their promises if they suddenly conceive of a notion to do otherwise?" he wanted to know. "You, maybe? George, you have barely enough magic to see Air, certainly not enough to do anything with it, and the only reason those water elementals show themselves to you is that you were gifted with their allegiance in the cradle. They'll watch out for you alright, but I'd still be fair game. I'll stay right where I am."

*

He had, in the end, actually ventured into the surf, and, with a lot of coaxing and laughter on George's part, eventually gotten to the point where he could now pride himself in being one of the very few fire masters who would not sink like a stone and drown if tossed into a body of water – though he was far from being able to call himself an adequate swimmer, and he was quite certain that if he was ever dropped into any kind of body of water deep enough for him to drown in without the good fortune of a water mage or master – or at least someone in sufficiently good standing with the elementals of water – at hand, his swimming skills or lack thereof would hardly matter since they would certainly grab him, drag him down and eat him for breakfast – or whatever water elementals did if they caught a fire master who had carelessly entered their element.

Nevertheless, none of that enabled him to talk to them if they did not wish to talk – which would usually be the case if it was him asking for a parlay – , or to get them to divulge any of their secrets – or what they considered such.

Right now, he couldn't even see any of them, which made no sense at all. He was usually pretty good at spying even the elementals of his antagonist element. He had been the strongest master among his siblings, who were spread out over all elements, and had had plenty of practice watching out for any of his brothers' and sisters' elementals sent to play pranks on him.

If he did not see a single elemental in that pond then there most likely were none.

Since there had been plenty only half a day earlier, there was absolutely no reason for all of them to have vanished now.

Harry wished Simmons was still with him. He might not have had any magic to speak of, and certainly not of water, but with is gift of allegiance he should have been able to call at least one of those elementals and talk to it.

A salamander appeared by his feet and wound around his boots like a cat trying to get his attention.

He glanced down.

"I don't reckon you have any idea what's going on here, do you?" he asked.

The salamander looked up at him and shook its head with a somewhat sad look on its face. Harry extended a thin tendril of magic to it as if tossing it a small treat. In contrast to some masters, he knew all of 'his' elementals by sight, and this specific salamander was particularly eager to fulfil its master's wishes. If it felt that it had fallen short of his expectations, it might hang around and mope for days until he  convinced it that there was no cause for such behaviour. Better to save himself the trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

Colborne breathed a sigh of relief when he finally got the chance to retreat into his tent.

Much as he hated to admit it, he still tired too easily for his taste. It was probably not surprising, after close to a year hardly able to leave his bed, followed my months in which any kind of physical exertion was still unthinkable, and a very short period of time spent with his newly wedded wife travelling at a leisurely pace.

He hadn't even – though this was not something he would admit to anyone but those who already knew – had the physical exertion of the bedding that customarily followed a wedding. Not, though, because he would have been unable to perform his duty. Neither because his bride was in any manner uncomely or otherwise undesirable to him in such a capacity, but simply because he had made it a condition between him, her and her uncle, whose idea the entire marriage had been to begin with, that for as long as this war continued, he would not risk leaving behind a fatherless child.

The previous day's march to see Wellington followed by this morning's to reach the camp, made his body yearn for rest.

He sat down on his bed, wondering if he could possibly get away with lying down and stealing a short nap, and came to the conclusion that he most probably would not. News of his return would have spread through the camp by now, and any number of old acquaintances and friends were likely to barge in any moment to welcome him back. He did not need them to walk in on him resting in the middle of the day.

Forcing himself back to his feet, he crossed his tent to where some helpful soul had left him a kettle of water to make tea.

Just about to start on the chore, hoping that this was all he needed to get through the rest of the day, he made the mistake of glancing into the liquid –

\- and recoiled as if a venomous snake had jumped out at him.

There had not been a snake, but there had definitely been something decidedly green in that kettle. Something that moved in ways that water did not.

Something that did not belong in his tea or his tent, or this very camp at all, really, considering that whatever it was didn't exist.

He moved back in, glanced into the water and retreated almost instantly to sink back onto his bed and rest his face in his palms.

He had thought those mad hallucinations had gone away when he had recovered from the fever. As a matter of fact, he had hardly glimpsed any more of the unnatural creatures that had crowded his sickroom during the first weeks and months after his injury once he had reached Lisbon. They had slowly grown fewer as he recovered, and there had not been any sightings once he had returned to England.

That was, unless he wished to count the times that he had thought he had spied movement out of the corner of his eye, and he certainly did not wish to count those.

Something tugged at his trousers.

At first, he refused to look, or even to acknowledge the sensation otherwise.

The tug returned, harder and more decisive this time, and accompanied by a distinct feeling of inexplicable wetness along his calf.

He looked down and groaned. Several of the naked green-tinged women that he had seen in the water were now sitting on the floor by his feet, giving him a clear view of their lower halves – their lower fish-tail halves. Two of them were stretching up and had each grasped a tiny fistful of fabric to get his attention.

Closing his eyes firmly, he willed them to go away. They weren't there. They couldn't be there. He wasn't really seeing them. He couldn't.

He had heard of men's sanity taking permanent harm from too much pain, too much suffering, but surely, surely he was stronger than that! Surely his mind could not have broken under the strain of his injury. If anything, he had come out of it stronger – hadn't he?

The creatures had not been there while he had been in England – certainly not. There was no reason for them to return now. He wasn't even afraid of returning to the fighting – or at least no more than any reasonable man would be. No more than he had been before.

There was no one in the tent but him. He focused on that knowledge. He strained to listen for the familiar sounds of camp life around his tent.

"Master…" A small, almost timid voice whispered up from the ground.

He forced his attention away from it and towards the bustle outside: the noise of horses being led by, the creak of leather; the wind brushing against the tent, causing the fabric to shift and rustle; the crackle of the fire over which he had just been about to prepare tea.

The tug on his leg was renewed, even more insistently.

Barely resisting the urge to pull away – if there was nothing then it could not possibly be pulling on his clothes either. It could not be leaving wet handprints on his leg. It. Could. Not. –, he listed all the real things that he felt: The fabric of his new uniform on his skin; the ache in his shoulder, dulled and easy to ignore at most times, but an ever-present companion now that, while very much bearable, might never go away entirely; the warmth of the fire, close enough to be felt on his face. No hands tugging at his trousers. No unexplained drops of water on his calf.

But there were, and he wanted to tell the things to go away, but to speak to them, to acknowledge their presence, would be to acknowledge the madness that caused the hallucinations; would be admitting that he had no business being in a war, but should be back home in England, recovering where he could not endanger anyone.

He certainly did not wish to endanger anyone, but he could not, would not go back home after having only just arrived here.

Even if he would have been willing to, he would have found himself unable to do so. He had a wife to maintain now. He needed his income.

As he opened his eyes again, he barely suppressed a sound of horror when he found himself not exactly face to face with, but definitely staring into the eyes of the most malicious-looking creature that he had seen so far.

Apparently made of dirt with an unpleasantly wet gleam to it, it was moving along the floor of his tent, slowly working its way towards him, eyes blazing and muzzle open, revealing several lines of razor-edged teeth.

It wasn't there. If it wasn't there, it couldn't do anything to him.

The fish-women around his feet seemed to think otherwise. They crowded closer, leaving him soaked to the knees. One tried to pull herself up onto his cot.

Without thinking, he held out a hand to help her up, then shrank back when she trustingly reached out to snuggle up against him.

The look of hurt and betrayal on her face cut him to the core. And they still were not, couldn't be, real!

But they felt, they looked and they sounded so very real.

He thought he could even smell the thing that was worming its way towards him – them? – now. It stank of rot and death.

The door-flap of his tent flew open to reveal Harry Smith – a very displeased-looking Harry Smith, his eyes shining with a vicious light that he had never seen in them before.

After one quick glance around the room, Harry jerked out his hand, as if throwing something down.

There was a blast of sparks where the worm-like creature's head had been just a moment earlier, and the thing beat a hasty retreat, returning to whatever hole it had crawled out of faster than Colborne's astonished mind could follow it.

He just barely managed not to gape as he stared at Harry, who took one very controlled step inside the tent and let the flap fall closed behind him.

"If you're done playing hide and seek with your undines," the younger man growled at Colborne. "Maybe you now have the time to spare to put proper wards on your tent so that the rest of us don't have to deal with the creatures you attract."

 

Colborne stared at Harry.

Was that even Harry, or another figment of his imagination?

"Colonel?" Smith asked, his voice sounding much less annoyed now. "Colborne?" A distinct note of concern in his voice.

Colborne looked at the fish-tailed women who were still crowding around him, leaving him unpleasantly damp. He very quickly averted his eyes again, hoping that Smith had not noticed, just in case.

"Did you…" Colborne started, then fell silent, swallowed and continued after a deep breath. "Did you just see that?"

"Which that?" Smith asked, the edge creeping back into his voice.

So he had not, and the flash of light had only existed in Colborne's mind? But what had that been about… undines and wards?

The younger officer pointed vaguely at the floor. "The wyrm there, puny as it was, or your games with the undines?" He half-leaned against a tent post. "Theoretically, both. Practically, I can pretend I haven't seen either. Also, far be it from me to tell another Master how to handle his elementals, but I'd very much like to remind you that we're not in England here, and this war has been going on long enough to spoil the earth and the elementals in it. Ward this tent before something bad happens."

"Reminder duly noted," Colborne spat out. "But what in the world are you talking about?"

Harry gave him a long, questioning look. "The Earth elementals?" he finally said, very slowly. "Which happen to be rather on the nasty side wherever the soil is soaked with blood as it is in this area? Except for the very few places where an Earth Master is keeping it cleansed, of course, but we don't have any Earth Master in the camp, and if we had he'd surely be sick or mad from all the killing and hurting and tearing up of the land and its people by now. It’s lucky that we don't have any Air either, because then it might take a few of us to keep out the nastier sort, but it's going to be bad enough for the likes of you and me if we get caught by them unawares."

Colborne stared. Most of what Smith had just rattled off, his words speeding up the longer he talked until they tumbled all over themselves, made absolutely no sense to him.

Apparently the other man had realised that as well. He came over and made a shooing motion, which was ignored by most of the woman-creatures that surrounded Colborne. Those that did not ignore it turned towards Harry and stuck out their tongues or made rude gestures.

The colonel shifted on the bed without thinking about it, moving away from those things a little.

Harry regarded him thoughtfully – a strange expression indeed on Smith's face.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" he asked eventually.

Colborne nodded mutely. The wet creatures were sidling up to him again.

"You have no idea what they are either." Smith's hand vaguely indicated the creatures around Colborne.

After a moment's hesitation, Colborne answered: "Undines, I suppose?" It came out sounding like a question even though it hadn't been intended as one. "But I have no idea what undines are."

Harry knelt in front of the cot, looking up at the other officer with his head slightly cocked to the side, his prominent nose making him look like some kind of bird contemplating a particularly interesting morsel of potential food.

"I thought your wound was to the shoulder," he finally said. "Did you also injure your head in some way?"

So Smith now assumed that his mind was damaged as well, even though he was the one who kept talking about… elementals and masters of some kind or another, and other things that made no sense? Colborne bristled. "My head is – and was – fine!" he snapped.

He realised as he said it that it wasn't entirely true. There had been an injury to his head once, but that had been a long time ago – more than a decade and a half – and he had not had any spells of seeing strange things since then. That had only started after his most recent wound.

"You are sure that you have never seen these before?" Harry asked, indicating Colborne's uninvited companions. He sounded curious now. "Or anything else like them?"

Colborne closed his eyes. The creatures – undines – moved closer. He could feel them lean in as if they were trying to… what? Comfort him? If so, it wasn’t working.

"If they make you uneasy, send them away," Harry suggested evenly.

"I tried that. Didn't work." Though had he really? Was trying to convince himself that they weren't there to begin with the same as sending them away?

As if he had read his mind, Harry went on: "Tell them you want them to get back into whatever they came out of. Or wait – ask them nicely. That tends to come across better, though I admit that I have no idea how to deal with water elementals … It's something that seems to hold true universally, though."

Feeling entirely ridiculous, Colborne looked down at the undines. "Go back – please?" he asked them, not really expecting  a reaction at all. Then, because it seemed that some kind of explanation was in order, he added the first thing that came to mind: "I need to talk to Captain Smith for a while and it'd probably be boring to you."

For some reason, that seemed to do the trick.

One after another, they slid off of the cot, leaving behind a damp stain. Two of them lingered briefly, trailing their hands along his legs when they finally did move, and keeping him in sight for as long as they could.

With a sigh of relief, Colborne twitched his blanket over the stain, hoping that it would dry before his servant noticed it and jumped to conclusions.

Harry's hand on top of his own stopped him. He looked at the younger man, who mutely motioned over the area.

The colonel could feel the heat rolling over his bed, drawing out every last bit of dampness there.

"So you've never seen anything like them before?" Harry asked again.

Colborne shrugged one-sidedly. "Not before I was wounded, I think. I started seeing things when the pain in my shoulder kept me awake at night. Things in the air, fairy-like, and other things on the floor, like the one that was in here earlier, but not – and something in the fire that looked like lizards, maybe." It felt strange to admit to all of that.

"Salamanders," Harry said absently. "The lizards are called Salamanders. And all of that is very strange. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone coming into their power that late in life."

Faced with the choice of focusing on confusion or irritation, Colborne picked the latter. "Are you telling me I'm old?"

The younger man laughed. "Old to have your gift suddenly spring into being fully fledged, to be sure." Without as much as a 'by your leave', Harry sat down next to Colborne.

A glowing lizard seemingly made of fire darted out of the flames across from them and disappeared inside Harry's shirt.

Colborne stared.

"You saw that?" Harry wanted to know. He beckoned, and the creature poked its head out of his collar, then emerged again fully to perch on his thigh, from where it cautiously stretched over to sniff at Colborne like an inquisitive little dog.

The creature sneezed and Colborne couldn't help but laugh at its expression.

"Yes," Harry said. "You are seeing that. You're strong, Colborne. Many a Master wouldn't be able to see the elementals of his antagonist element, unless a Master of theirs had told them to show themselves. Which I have not."

"Is that…good?" Colborne's eyes now darted around the tent, looking for other signs of creatures that should not be there.

A moment's silence followed as Smith considered. "Yes and no," he said. "You're strong enough for the elementals to want to be around you and to want you to be happy with them. That's good because it makes things easier. But it's also bad, because being as strong as you seem to be poses a lot of danger if you aren't in control of your powers. You need to learn to use them, and to control them, so they can't act out of control."

Colborne looked at Harry thoughtfully. "What kind of danger?"

The younger man considered. "We're camped by a pond. We might be flooded if you have a nightmare, or get angry at someone. If you feel someone has wronged you, he might not survive the next time he crosses a body of water. By the sea, you probably have the power to wash away entire villages if you get yourself worked up enough."

None of the things that Harry had just listed were, in Colborne's opinion, all that likely to happen. In contrast to the friend by his side, he didn't have a hot temper, and he liked to think things through. Still, what if, against all odds, it did happen? "So how do I learn?" he asked.

"Usually, you find another Master to teach you. Preferably a Water Master, though Earth can teach Water, too."

"Whoa." Colborne held up a hand the moment he noticed Harry's words speed up again. "Wait. Water Master, earth teaching water? What does that mean?"

Harry shook his head, as if to clear it. "Sorry," he said somewhat sheepishly. "I grew up in a household of masters. I'm not used to anyone who has the gifts not knowing what they are at all. So… there are the elements of Fire, Water, Air and Earth. Each of them has elementals – those are the undines you saw, and the salamanders, and the other things that you described. Those are all lesser elementals – they're pretty much everywhere and they are easy to learn to control or coax into doing what you need them to do. The people who can see them have different degrees of strength, power, control, whatever you want to call them. Those able to see and coax, wheedle and beg elementals of their own element into doing things are called Mages. The Masters are more powerful, and can command an elemental if they want to. It's part of the reason why those undines were acting as if they were trying to get you to ask them to dance – they want to be your friends. You're less likely to coerce a friend after all."

Harry had to stop there to catch his breath, and Colborne took the moment's respite to digest all of that. "So you called me a Master because the way those … undines … behave suggests that I have a lot of power if I learn how to use it?"

"When," Harry said. "Not if. Masters either learn it or they die trying. I mean that. And yes, partially. But also because I can see the power around you. It bleeds out of you and pools around you as if you were a cask of wine with a leak. You don't even know enough to keep it all contained."

Colborne's lips twitched into a wry smile. "Just because I'm wearing a red uniform doesn't mean I'm full of red wine." In fact, he drank rather sparingly, especially compared to some of the other officers.

"Be that as it may," Harry answered, unwilling to be side-tracked for a change. "The best way to learn how to use your power always is to study under a Master of your own element – Water in your case. The second-best is a teacher of the major affinity. Those are Water and Earth, or Fire and Air. If there is no such person available at all, the very basics might be provided by someone of your lesser affinity. Those would be Water and Air, Fire and Earth." He stopped to ensure that Colborne was still following him.

Apparently he was. "Are there any other… masters and mages in the camp?" the Colonel asked.

"Oh yes," Harry nodded enthusiastically. "My brother Tom for one, and a couple of others."

"Great." Colborne got to his feet and smoothed down his jacket. "Then let's go find one now."

The other man did not even move from where he was sitting.

"What are you waiting for?" his superior officer wanted to know. "Come on."

Harry sighed. "You can sit right back down," he said. "Because you can be sure that I know every single Elemental Mage and Master in the camp, and you are our only Water Master – or Mage, even." He saw that Colborne opened his mouth to speak and hurried to continue: "And there certainly is no Earth Master with the army. Earth Masters are often tied to their home, and will feel acutely unwell if removed from it for any lengthy period of time. Also, any damage to the land hurts them. Earth also is the element of healing. An Earth Magician or Master – they'd be unable to live in the midst of all of this bloodshed and suffering unless they'd already gone bad. You wouldn't want to be taught by a corrupted Earth Master." Harry shuddered involuntarily. There were very few things that scared him, and that one might actually top the list. "Earth Magic corrupted, reversed, leaves you with the powers of death and disease, foulness and corruption, all the things you do not want to be involved with. Trust me on this one even if you believe nothing else that I've been telling you. You do not want to be taught by the kind of Earth Master who would be able to abide travelling with an army in times of war."

"Alright then." Colborne felt that he would need a lot more time to absorb all of that, but for the time being it appeared that he had something more urgent to see to. "Air then?"

Biting his lip, Harry looked vaguely past Colborne as he answered. "We have no Air in camp."

He felt, rather than saw, the older man's firm gaze on himself.

"Then you will teach me," Colborne stated evenly.

Harry shook his head. "I can't," he said. "I'm a Fire Master. All the Mages and Masters we have here are. They're the most likely to both go into soldiering and hang on to the army – Air's just too … flighty to do well with discipline. Anyway, Fire can't teach Water. They're antagonists. They just don't work that way together. Fire and Water are unmixable."

A few quick steps took Colborne over to where the kettle of water was still hanging over the fire. He stared into the flames for a moment, then into the kettle, before turning back to Harry. "Then we will find a way to make them mixable," he declared. "Because I am not going back to England over this, and as you just pointed out, I do need teaching. Congratulations, Captain Smith. You have just acquired a student."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry sat and stared.

Him, teach? He had avoided that duty even with his younger siblings, and his parents had wisely accepted that it was not where his talents lay and had not tried to force the issue.

Worse – teach Water? That went against everything that he had ever been taught about how the elements and their magic worked. Fire could not possibly teach Water. They were too different – antagonists – what worked for Fire couldn't ever work for Water, and vice versa. Where was he even supposed to begin to figure out what to do with Colborne if he had to assume that all that he had ever learned about the use of his magic was inapplicable?

Colborne spoke again, and Harry missed what he said, only realising that an answer was in order when he realised the older man was looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked. "I was thinking."

"I noticed," Colborne answered drily. "I said: Are all of your sisters and brothers Fire, then?"

"No," Harry admitted. "We're spread out across the elements. Our father's Earth, our mother's one of the Talented. That means she doesn't have elemental magic at all, but other… skills."

"Do I need to know about those now?" Colborne asked.

After a moment's consideration, Harry shook his head. "We should talk about them at some point," he decided. "Not necessarily now, no."

Colborne nodded. "So how were your brothers or sisters with Water magic taught?"

The sound Harry made might have been a snort. "By a Water Master, of course. And I paid as little attention to my own schooling as I could get away with – I certainly didn't pay any attention to Alice's."

"And doesn't that just prove that it pays off to pay attention to schooling even if you don't have any immediate use for it?" Colborne wanted to know.

Harry frowned. "Colborne, you must be the _only_ student who will scold the teacher for _his_ schooling. If you pick your teacher, you take what he offers – or go find another one."

He really hoped that Colborne would go for the second option.

"Very well," the other man said with a smile. "I stand corrected and await your instructions, teacher."

There really seemed to be no way out of this fix. Once again, Harry wished that George Simmons were with them. Maybe his Water Master uncle had given him at least some basic idea of the theory behind Water Magic. It couldn't have hurt to ask in any case.

Well, he couldn't ask Simmons, but consultation was definitely in order. He mentally went over the Masters in the brigade, trying to figure out which one he would be able to talk to and coming to the conclusion that there was not one among them that he would trust with the information that their Colonel was not only the possibly strongest Master of their antagonist element that they had ever seen, but also entirely untrained. He could just imagine the kind of panic that would cause among them, not knowing when and where some of the more unpleasant water elementals might take a fancy to playing their tricks in camp – and on them. Earth elementals might have been nastily dangerous when gone bad, but Water was known for having any number of mischievous creatures that could wreak as much havoc if set loose in the wrong kind of environment. They could certainly make life in camp a lot more unpleasant.

There was one person in camp whom he knew he could trust sufficiently to talk to. Not a soldier, of course. Not even an officer.

"We'll go to my tent," Harry decided. "It's properly warded and putting up good enough shields around this one would take too much time now. I'll make sure that you have some to keep you safe through the night before we turn in, but we need to figure out how you can put up your own. They'll need to be redone every time we set up camp."

"I hear you're a married man now," Colborne observed. "What if your wife decides to look in on you?"

Harry laughed at that. "Don't worry about Juana, Colborne. She's probably twice the master I am!"

That was not, strictly speaking, true. Harry and Juana were quite evenly matched in power.

He thought back to their first encounter. When Juana's sister had brought her to the camp that day, both women had been at the end of their strength. It had been the older sister who had spoken, the younger one sitting by her side impassive with exhaustion – a state that Harry had not seen in his wife again since.

As her sister had told about the things that had befallen them, Harry had bent down to brush back the veil that concealed the younger girl's face. Their eyes had met, and they had instantly recognised each other for what they were, masters of the same element, their minds making contact through their shared magic and feeling right at home with each other.

The declaration that he would marry Juana had been the logical consequence of that. Kincaid seemed to have lined up right behind him, quite ready to make the same statement if given half a chance. Kincaid, who was Air – a magician only, though, and far from mastery – and might have suited a woman of fire well enough if that woman wasn't his Juana.

And a woman she was, for all that she was only fourteen years old when they married.

The night of their wedding, he had hesitated, uncertain whether his young wife even knew what was supposed to happen between man and woman – uncertain also whether the torn-out earrings had been the only form of violence suffered by her at the hands of the plunderers.

"Juana, my love," he had told her in Spanish when they had both sat down on the edge of his bed, the cot creaking dangerously under the weight of two persons, even if one was barely more than a girl. "What do you expect me to do now?"

"That you be my husband and treat me as your wedded wife," she had answered, leaning into him just a little.

He gulped at that. He had to know what, if anything, had happened to her before she had been brought to the camp by her sister.

"Juana – When they caught up with you before – did they… do anything to you apart from taking away your valuables?"

She had looked at him then with an expression that almost made him wither under her scrutiny. "My dear husband," she told him firmly, "they certainly would have tried. But you are forgetting who you are talking to. I may only be fourteen, but I achieved Mastery of my Element almost two years ago. They would have been very ill-advised to go through with anything, I can assure you, and there were enough fires springing up nearby to keep them from getting any ideas, too. I'd also thank you to remember that I can take care of myself. I am not some helpless maiden at the mercy of any man. Now, if you please…?"

He had pleased, and found that night quite rewarding – as well as many a night thereafter.

Now, Harry dragged Colborne along to his own tent, hoping that Juana was there and not with the horses, or the sick, or feeding the soldiers. He knew he could summon her if he needed to, but he would rather not risk anything that might lead to word getting out that there was something amiss. That would happen soon enough, he feared. Expecting Colborne to learn how to properly shield himself and contain his power in a single afternoon was a bit too much to ask.

They got lucky.

Juana, sitting by the fire darning socks with a pair of salamanders in attendance, put aside her work and got to her feet when the two men entered.

Smith pulled the tent flap closed behind him and slapped a ward on it to remind anyone who might come calling on them of all the other things that he needed to do more urgently right now.

"Darling, this is Colonel Colborne," Harry introduced his superior officer to his wife in Spanish. "Colborne – My wife Juana."

She smiled at the older man, dropped into a quick curtsey and then crossed the tent quickly to kiss the surprised man on his cheek. "I've heard so much about you, I almost feel as if we have known each other for months!"

Colborne wished he could have returned that statement, but letters tended to convey a lot less information than Harry's undoubtedly overenthusiastic tales of their past exploits could.

"I am honoured, Mrs Smith," he said instead, earning an earnest shake of her head.

"Please," she said, her eyes firmly fixed on his face. "Call me Juana. I do not want to be Mrs Smith to you."

He nodded politely at her request. It wasn't entirely proper, but when had Harry Smith ever been one to stand on propriety? It was hardly surprising that the girl who had married him matched him in that respect.

"What do I call you?" Juana went on, still smiling as if she had just welcomed her long-lost brother.

"I fear my friends just call me Colborne," the man admitted. He could have offered her to call him by his first name, of course, but that would have been strange. There were few persons out there who addressed him thus these days – specifically his siblings and his wife.

Juana beckoned him to step farther into the tent. "Then so shall I," she decided. "We are friends, aren't we?"

As he nodded, she made a tsk-ing sound. "Excuse me for being so forward, Colborne," she said with a chiding tone to her voice. "But you are leaking your magic all over my tent."

Colborne looked at Harry, silently begging for the younger man's help. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain their predicament.

Luckily, Smith seemed to get the idea. "He can't help it, love," he told Juana. "I have no idea why, but apparently his powers only manifested quite recently. He's untaught… entirely untaught."

"But—" Juana looked somewhat appalled by the news. "There isn't a single Water Master in camp to teach him!"

Harry flopped down into a chair. "I know," he sighed. "We need to find a way to give him at least some basic grounding until he can find a Master." He looked at her beseechingly. "Juanita, I know it's crazy, but he needs to learn at least some control, somehow…"

"Not as crazy as you may think," the girl said as she turned to the salamanders still sitting in her abandoned spot by the fire. "Shoo," she told them. "Go play elsewhere for a while. You don't need to frighten poor Colborne here."

*

Colborne had to suppress a chuckle at that. "They're not frightening me," he said, stepping closer and holding out a hand as if he was facing a pair of lap dogs. "Confusing, yes, but not frightening."

Not anymore, in any case. Not since they had suddenly turned from madness to a very real, physical problem. Or well, maybe not physical, but definitely real – and real problems he could handle, some way or another. He might not understand anything about this … _magic_ … just yet, but he did understand that men – and women, it appeared – could learn to master it. He had learned many things on his own already, more so than he had learned from actual teachers, he thought. He would be able to figure this out, too.

Harry's wife ignored his statement and chased out the salamanders anyway, then pointed at another chair by the table. "Sit, my dear," she commanded, just as if she wasn't barely more than a girl and he easily more than twice her age. "What has my Enrique explained to you so far?"

Colborne obeyed, settling in the chair so he was facing Harry, who looked ready to jump back up and interfere with his wife's handling of his superior officer who, at that moment, didn't much mind being handled like that, though. Sorting out the facts of the situation and the theory behind it seemed like a very good start to him.

"That there are mages and masters, and elementals for air, water, earth and fire," he explained dutifully. "That fire and water, earth and air do not work together well."

"No." Juana interrupted him sharply. "They are antagonists, but that does not mean that the masters of water and fire cannot get along, or even combine their magic in a working. No two elements can ever be mixed, you see. Fire and Air, Water and Earth are the major affinities but even those cannot be _mixed_ , only layered. At my school, Teresa, the girl I shared my room with, was going to be a Water Master, and we got along just splendidly. Like sisters, really." She looked at Harry. "You have a Water sister, don't you?" she asked him, her voice sounding almost accusatory.

He nodded to her. "I do. And sometimes she frightens me."

"Then you should behave better in her presence!" Juana snapped at him. "And write to her more often." She turned back to Colborne. "It is good that you are Water, and strong, if you are commanding the Fire soldiers here. Once you are properly in command of your powers, no one will question you. In a duel between masters, Water will usually prevail. Out of all the elements, Water is the least strict about following rules, because Water goes where it will, around, across, through obstacles. Is it not so, Enrique?"

Harry bowed his head to her. "I guess it is."

"Is the same not true for air?" Colborne asked.

Juana raised her eyebrows at him. "You would think so, wouldn't you?" she conceded. "However, Air is an inconsistent element. Water you can send rushing at an obstacle and it will keep coming until it has either washed it away or found a way around it. Air is as likely to just turn around and go elsewhere if it can't get past right away. The elementals of Air are difficult to keep on track. They are flighty things, and quick to lose interest. Getting them to do anything that does not give them an instant reward is hard work. They're more likely to abandon the attempt altogether and do something entirely different instead."

The Colonel nodded. "I can follow that far," he said. "And Earth – What would Earth do with the obstacle?"

"Earth," Juana considered for only a second. "Earth likes things consistent. Unless the obstacle was something that affected that consistency, Earth might not care a great deal. The Earth Masters hereabouts will try to restore their soil to the healthy condition that it was in before the armies came. They might try to keep us out, turn us away from them, but it is a rather…" she fumbled for a word.

Colborne thought that he understood. "Passive approach?" he offered, and was rewarded with a nod from her.

"That." she confirmed. "Earth heals, grows and restores, but it does not usually actively change things."

"There was a thing in my tent," Colborne said, barely suppressing a shudder as he thought back to it and the rows upon rows of teeth in its too-wide mouth. "Harry called it an Earth elemental. It was … bad."

"I know them," Juana said. "I destroy them where I can, I chase them away where I cannot, like we all do. The war drowns the soil in blood and gives strength to those evil creatures born of Earth Magic gone bad. You have to understand that each element can be corrupted - inverted."

He leaned forward towards her, intensely interested in that. If he had understood Harry correctly, he had to protect himself against those creatures. "They all can go bad, you mean?"

Now both Smiths shook their heads.

It was Harry who spoke up first. "Earth is the element of healing," he explained. "Its inversion is death and disease. A corrupted Earth Magician or Master may be a necromancer – one who raises the dead – or someone who brings disease and sickness, for example. Corrupted Earth elementals are the worst because of that. They are the very opposite of everything wholesome and beneficial. Take us, though, for example – the opposite of fire quite simply is ice. There are Ice Mages. They are not necessarily evil."

"No more likely to be evil than a Fire Mage," Juana added. "A fire mage gone bad can destroy land or men by burning them, an ice mage gone bad by freezing them. Either is equally dangerous."

He understood – or so he thought in any case, and he said so. "Now," he went on. "How do I go about learning to control the Water Elementals?"

Juana shook her head at him as she wagged a chiding finger. "You control the magic, not the Elementals. We do not coerce them. They are not your soldiers to be commanded. Think of them more like…"

"Children," Harry chimed in. "To be guided along gently."

Colborne winced involuntarily, thinking of the gentle guiding that the masters at the first school that he had attended as a child had engaged in, and the scars that guidance had left on his back – some of which were visible to this day. "How do I do that?" he fastened his eyes on Harry, hoping for help from him."

"Damned if I know," the younger man answered.

Juana tapped on the table to get his attention back. "Not at all for the time being," she declared. "First, you have to find a way to perceive your magic. To see it or feel it or taste it – to tell when you are holding it or when magic is done near you."

Staring into the room hoping to see anything that could qualify, Colborne found that all that there was to his eyes were Harry's furnishings and Juana's implements, and a curious little salamander that peeked out of the fireplace. He shook his head mutely.

"Relax," Harry advised. "Magic works better if you're not straining for it. Relax and let it happen."

That was easier said than done if he didn't even know what exactly he was supposed to let happen. Still, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing his body and mind to relax.

"You won't see anything that way," Harry commented, followed by Juana's sharper "Give the man some space, Enrique – unless you have a better idea!"

Colborne tried to ignore the subsequent grumbling on Harry's part.

Once he was sure that he would not get any more relaxed than he was, he cracked open his eyes, looking around the tent once more.

He saw nothing out of the ordinary at first, certainly not when he looked at his two companions. Lowering his eyes however, he caught sight of a greenish shimmer all around himself. He started at that, and the tint was gone from his sight the moment he blinked.

"See anything?" Harry wanted to know.

The older man half-nodded, half-shrugged. "I think so," he allowed as he tried to will himself back into that moment where he had seen what he supposed was the magical leak that they had both mentioned.

By the time he had the trick down to the point where he could actually look at the pool of shifting shades of green that tinged the air and ground around him, he felt just as if he had spent the same amount of time – and then some – at heavy physical labour. Juana produced a bowl of stew from somewhere and put it down in front of him.

"Eat," she said. "Magic is hungry work, especially at first."

He could not deny that. His stomach made its wishes noisily known the moment he smelled the food. He could have sworn that he had never had anything remotely as delicious at that moment.

Taking the bowl in his left and the offered spoon in his right, he started to eat. His arm was still protesting against use of any kind, but moving utensils between plate and mouth was one of the few things he could still reliably do with it, and he would be damned if he didn't use it for what he could. That arm had better get used to the idea.

Juana let him eat in peace and poured him a cup of milk when he was done.

"No wine during lessons," she declared when he looked at her wonderingly.

He inclined his head in agreement. He wasn't nearly as heavy a drinker as most of the other officers. Having goat's milk instead of wine was perfectly acceptable for him. As he tipped back the cup, he tried to slip back into that state of mind where he could see the magic.

The reddish gold glow that emanated from Juana now almost startled him right out of it again.

"You can see this?" she asked him when she noticed.

Confirming with a nod, he glanced at Harry, who looked the same as always.

"Watch," the woman commanded, demanding back his attention.

As he obeyed, she collected that glow again, withdrawing it into herself until it was all tightly contained inside her skin – still visible to him while he still saw nothing of the kind in Harry, but no longer colouring the space around her.

"Now you try."

Well. How difficult could it be? He saw the green glow around himself and imagined it flowing into him.

Nothing happened.

He focused on it, trying to get some reaction from it, but in vain.

He moved his hand through it, hoping for some hint at how to gather up that cloud of magic, and got nothing but a snicker from Harry's direction.

Sparing the younger man a brief glare, he resigned himself to a long and exhausting afternoon.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Colborne lay on the narrow cot in his tent, his body exhausted but his mind still racing.

He could see the warm orange glow of Harry's magic against the fabric of his tent, a bubble enveloping the whole tent all the way down into the ground, where it kept out the Earth elementals that were not welcome inside.

He could see the tiny undine lounging in his still-unused kettle, peering at him over the rim, as well as the shape of a small salamander crouched in the fireplace.

He could see the almost transparent sylphs in the air, basking in the light of the banked fire.

He could see them all, and they were real. They were not madness, not a crazy figment of his imagination.

The glow of Harry's shield should have been comforting. It was keeping him safe after all. Nevertheless, it rankled. That should be his own shield up there, around him. The shields had to be rebuilt every time camp was moved. He couldn't let Smith – either Smith – do it for him every time. For that matter, he expected that people were going to notice the Fire shields on the Water Master's tent. According to his friend there were quite a handful of Fire Magicians and Masters with them.

All he had been able to do that night was to catch hold of a strand or two of his power and wrap them around himself before losing them again. Working the magic was quite a peculiar thing, and nothing that Harry had suggested after he had stopped laughing had helped.

He had certainly come to understand Harry’s statement that 'Fire cannot teach Water' in the course of those hours.

In spite of his exhaustion, Colborne collected a strand of his power with his mind, smiling grimly when he saw a rope of green move in the darkness. He pushed it up, and up. He prided himself in having committed everything of importance that Harry and his wife had told him to memory. She had spoken of layering instead of mixing. Well, if that power wasn't going to stay stuck inside him, maybe it would stay layered on top of Harry's.

Did a shield work that way? He had no idea, but it couldn't hurt to try, could it?

Slapping his rope of green – already shrunk down to barely more than a tendril – on top of Harry's smooth sheet of orange, he started pushing at it with his mind, trying to force it apart to lie flat against the Fire below.

It worked, after a fashion.

By the time he had hammered on another few increasingly feeble strands of water, he found himself irresistibly drifting off to sleep.

A sudden, sharp draft made him jerk awake.

One quick glance at the fire told him that he must have slept for a several hours. The undine had disappeared from the edge of the kettle, apparently too bored with watching him sleep to stick around. Three thin strips of water magic still clung to the fire over his head, though they were bleeding out slowly but steadily. At this rate it would not take long before they would be completely gone. Maybe that was for the best. If they were no longer there by morning, no one would be likely to notice his haphazard attempt to use his magic.

All seemed quiet, but something had woken him – and the feeling of a presence in the tent with him was oppressive. His eyes darted across the floor, looking for the intruder. Had some Earth elemental gotten in thorough Harry's shield? Had he inadvertently weakened it by his earlier actions?

 _Up here,_ he heard a breathy voice, sounding more in his head than in his ear.

His head jerked up and his attention focused on a semi-transparent shape suspended just below the highest point of the tent. It was larger than the sylphs he had seen before – considerably larger. Bulkier, too. Where the sylphs had had the bodies of delicate little females, this thing – this elemental – was most undoubtedly male. He was shaped along the lines of a man who enjoyed his food and drink a little too much and stinted on his exercise. An ample beard draped down from his chin, while the unreal light of Harry's fire shield should have reflected off of his bald head – that it did not was further proof of the being's immaterial existence, if the fact that Colborne could see right through most of him was not enough of a giveaway already.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Colborne asked. He had no idea what exactly the elemental was, or what he would do, and being polite seemed to be a good way to start their acquaintance. Considering the location he hung in and his transparent nature, he was reasonably certain that he was an elemental of Air.

 _You can start by explaining why you have been hiding from me_ , he grated in Colborne's mind, sounding like wind whistling through the hollows of a dead tree – or the empty window openings of a ruined building. It was not a comforting sound at all.

"I have not," Colborne said. "At least not to my knowledge." He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, realised that his arm wouldn't move that way and shifted his weight to use the other. When would he get used to being unable to do things as he used to? "You must understand that I am quite new to this."

The mental snort made him shudder. _New to this? I would almost believe it, looking at that ramshackle reinforcement of yours._ Indicating the strands of water magic on the shield, the elemental shook with silent laughter.

Admitting to weakness might not be the best of ideas, but then again he had not been murdered in his sleep and this was certainly not an elemental of Earth. No one had warned him that Air might do any harm to him – apart from bring unreliable and fickle. "Indeed I am," he confirmed. "Until yesterday, I knew nothing of elementals, or magic." He slid his legs off of the cot and sat on its edge. As he moved, so did the elemental, hovering lower and closer. "So if you want me to understand anything, you will have to explain from the beginning."

Another snort, no less unpleasant than the first.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew Colborne's attention and he noticed that his undine had woken and heaved herself up onto the edge of the kettle, making rude gestures at the Air elemental. He forced a neutral expression onto his face, even though his lips wanted to twitch into a grin at the sight.

 _I was left to watch over you, Johnny_ , the elemental spat at him, his face a mask of annoyance now. _I may have looked the other way for a moment, and there you were, gone from sight and hearing, as if you had been swallowed by nothingness. It took me this long to find you again. You will not hide from me again, boy – do you hear me?_

'Johnny'? No one had called him 'Johnny' since – actually, no one had ever called him that, as far as Colborne could remember. He also had no desire to be called 'boy' by the elemental, though for all Colborne knew he could be hundreds of years old and have reason to consider him one. How old did elementals get anyway?

"I'm sorry," Colborne said, "I can assure you that it was not my intention to hide from anything or anyone. However, since I do not know how I did it, I can hardly promise that I will not do so again." Neither would he claim that he had no desire to do so if he did find out. As a matter of fact, he was not going to promise anything magic-related to anyone until he had had an opportunity to consult on it with either Smith. "Would you mind telling me who left you to watch over me, though?"

 _My Master_. The elemental's voice, such as it was, sounded more irritated by the second. _And it is lucky for both of us that he did not summon me to inquire about you while you were so inexplicably hidden from view._

He couldn't say that he liked the idea of some undefined Master leaving an irritable Air elemental to watch him. In fact, he couldn't say he liked the idea of being watched at all.

"When was it that your Master gave you that task?" Maybe that would clear up things a little. "And where?"

 _In his home_ , the elemental grated at him. _On the day he first found you coaxing an undine out of your bath. You will remember that. He was very proud when he saw._

As a matter of fact, Colborne remembered no such thing. Was the elemental lying – or was there another, very logical explanation for why he had no memory of that incident? Smith had told him that, more often than not, elemental magic ran in families rather than springing up suddenly where no mages had ever been born before. Was it possible…?

"I must have been very young then," he ventured.

The elemental gave another one of those sounds that Colborne called his snorts. _I do not understand your 'young' and 'old'_ , he said. _I was given a task and I fulfilled it._

Colborne nodded at the being. "Until you lost sight of me. When was that? Were you with me all the time before it?"

It seemed that the elemental squirmed slightly at that. _Not all the time_ , he admitted. _That was not required. For a time, the Master would summon me to hear me tell him of your exploits. Then more rarely. Then not until I almost forgot what I had been charged with. When I remembered, I could not find you again. I have been looking for you since, hoping to find you again before he summons me._

Translate that into 'He lost interest in his task once he was no longer reminded of it regularly and wandered off.', Colborne thought, remembering what he had been told about Air elementals before. And why wasn't he reminded of it anymore? Death would surely keep his Master from giving any more orders. Things began to make some semblance of sense, if he ignored for the moment that he had no idea why he had suddenly 'vanished' and why he had now reappeared. And why now, and not when he had lain in helpless pain after his wound, thinking he was going insane from all the things he was seeing. Surely if he could see them, they had seen him. "All the time?" he asked. "Were you looking for me all the time during that period?"

The elemental made a scornful sound. _Not all the time_ , he admitted, his voice somewhere between chagrined and scornful, a combination Colborne would not even have thought possible before. _I have things to attend to other than a Master's unruly offspring_.

"Of course you do," the man said. They were getting somewhere now. More precisely, judging by the elemental's unchanged expression, _he_ was getting somewhere now. "Your Master, did he have a name?"

 _Master_ , the elemental answered, the single word almost painful in Colborne's head.

Well, he assumed that was what the elemental had called him. "What did the people around him call him? Other Masters, for example? Or anyone else, really?"

 _I have never seen him with any other Masters_ , came the response. After a moment's pause in which Colborne considered his next question with care, it continued: _The one he calls his wife calls him Samuel. The smaller one calls him Sir. He is most happy when people call him Lord or King._

"I think you can safely go about your own business," Colborne suggested as soon as the elemental's voice had faded from his mind. "Samuel Colborne has been dead many years. He cannot summon you again." He had been told often enough of his father's habit of, though only a merchant, desiring people to cheer him as King Colborne.

 _That is for me to decide_ , the elemental snapped. _I will not have you talk me into abandoning my post again, boy. You shall do as you are told, or my next report to my Master will not be in your favour._

Biting his lip to keep a straight face, Colborne inclined his head slightly. "Very well," he conceded. It appeared that the elemental's understanding of 'death' was as limited as that of 'age'. "What do you suggest we do now?"

 _Go back to sleep_ , the elemental ground out, sounding very much like a command. _And no more vanishing._ With that, he hovered back up as far as the tent – or Harry's shields? – would let him and settled there, Colborne's audience with him apparently over.

With a one-sided shrug, the man stretched out under his blankets again. Sleep sounded like a pretty good idea. He had no idea when he would have another chance at a full night's rest after all. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the feeling of the elemental's eyes stabbing into his unprotected back.

*

"Sounds like a djinni," Harry commented thoughtfully when Colborne related his nightly encounter over breakfast.

The elemental had been gone when he had woken again, though both Harry's shields and the other elementals that had apparently taken up residence in Colborne's tent had still been there, reminding him that he most likely had not dreamed up the encounter.

"What do you make of it?" Colborne wanted to know, watching the younger man as he stared into space for a few moments.

Eventually, Harry shrugged. "I think you are probably right," he stated thoughtfully. "Your father may well have been an Air Master, and he may well have set one of his elementals to watch over his son – and if your father wasn't around anymore to remind it, it is likely to have forgotten about its task whenever something more interesting came up. It may keep looking in on you whenever it gets bored, though." He grinned. "Maybe that’s another good reason to learn how to put up a good shield. There are probably some situations where you don't want a djinni hovering over your bed to whisper good advice into your ear – or that of your wife."

Colborne shuddered at the thought. "Would he do that?"

"How would I know?" Harry returned. "I'm not—" He broke off when the tent flap was pushed aside empathically and a third Smith stormed into the tent.

"Harry, what are you—" Tom started, but fell silent when his eyes found Colborne sharing the table. "Colonel," he greeted him. "Excuse me for being so forward, but you're … leaking."

Colborne pushed the mostly empty plate away from him. "I was going to try and do something about that, actually," he declared. "Good morning, Lieutenant." He turned his attention to his host. "Smith, I thought you put a ward on this tent."

With an apologetic shrug and a sheepish grin, Harry filled another plate while Juana secured the flap again. "He's my brother, Colborne. Never been able to keep him out of anything with a ward, and not for lack of trying."

Tom snatched the plate out of his brother's hands and started eating without waiting for an invitation. "I'm surprised," the younger Smith mumbled through a mouthful of breakfast. "Thought you were about as unmagical as a man could be, and now you're … pretty much drenching the tent with Water."

If Colborne had intended to favour Tom with a dark, reproving look, the expression on Harry's face ruined that plan. As he let out a laugh, he realised just how much his recent discoveries had weighed on his mind. "I'm sorry if I am violating magical etiquette," he told Tom. "But I found myself in this predicament quite suddenly and unexpectedly."

Then, since it was already too late to keep the entire affair secret from Harry's brother anyway, he quickly recounted his situation to the newcomer.

"You're sure he had no magic at all before he left for England?" Tom asked his brother when the senior officer was finished. He gestured dangerously with his fork until Juana wordlessly took the plate and utensils out of his hands.

"Absolutely," Harry confirmed. "When we met before, he didn't have a trace. Now – boom." He threw out his arms to suggest the amount of power that radiated out from Colborne, as if everybody present wasn’t able to see it.

Tom considered for another moment, screwing up his face as he thought hard. "Harry, do you remember that tale our father used to tell us about Old Barnham down the road?"

His brother made a shooing motion with his hand as if to banish the memory of a tale much overtold. "The grandest Earth Master around until he was hit in the head by a torn-off tree branch in a storm. Goes to prove why we should not venture where our antagonist element rules and so on. I remember it, but Colborne was hit in the shoulder, not the head, and his gift hasn't been shut away, but very suddenly awakened full-blown."

From the way Juana looked at Tom, Colborne assumed that he would be asked to tell all the details of that story to her soon.

"You weren't hit in the head, Colonel, were you?" Harry asked for confirmation again.

Colborne shook his head. "Shoulder and leg," he said. "Neither of which contains my brain." Though truth to tell, the pain had been quite enough to impair his thinking for a good long while.

"I thought maybe the shock of the wound knocked loose a latent gift or something," the older Smith threw in. "But his djinni just told him last night that he used to play with undines as a little boy, so… no."

"He's not my djinni," Colborne muttered.

"It," Harry corrected. "It is as good as yours, since you seem to have inherited it from your father."

Tom perched on the edge of the table, his arms crossed over his chest for a moment before he brought up one hand to his chin, the picture of deep thought. "If it's in your family, how come no one told you about it before?"

The colonel shrugged in his recently acquired one-sided fashion. "My real father died when I was just a little boy. I don’t remember him at all. My mother remarried, and … maybe she did not know?"

"Possible," Juana agreed. "Here, if we marry someone without the gifts, we do not share our knowledge. It is better for everyone involved."

"It's the same in England," Harry confirmed. "Some go all their lives without knowing just what their spouse can do. It's easier to hide than you think – people are good at telling themselves they have not seen what they do not want to have seen, and if you cannot see the elementals, it is easy to tell yourself that there was nothing, or to come up with some perfectly logical explanation."

Now that was true even if you could see the elementals, Colborne had to admit. Especially if you were suddenly seeing elementals all around your sickbed.

"Children who grow up in non-magical families--" that was the younger Smith again, cutting into Colborne's thoughts. "They often lose the ability to see the elementals as they are taught that such things do not exist. The better they are kept away from those able to guide them into their powers, the less likely they are to continue to perceive anything out of the ordinary."

"It is said that some people, especially magician-level ones, go all their lives without learning to use their powers," Harry continued when Tom fell silent to consider. "Especially since our church does not exactly encourage the use of the arcane."

"My stepfather was a reverend," Colborne noted. "He certainly wouldn't have encouraged dealings with strange little half-transparent creatures. I just don't recall the problem ever coming up. Then again, I was already spending most of my time at school by then, and again, while I don't recall anyone there ever saying anything to that end, I am certain that they would not have encouraged anyone playing with elementals."

"Still," Tom pointed out. "A Magician may go without ever using his gift, but a Master does not."

"They either learn or die trying," Colborne quoted Harry's words from earlier.

Tom choked on a mouthful of wine. "You told him that?" he sputtered in Harry's direction. "You told him _like_ that?"

His brother shrugged. "He needed to know. But while I think we know why he stopped playing with undines as a boy, we still don't know why he had to grow to be 35 years old to regain his magic."

All three Smiths looked thoughtful now.

"What?" Colborne wanted to know.

"Well…", Tom began, just as Harry started to ask "Were--?"

The brothers looked at each other for a moment, and Tom shrugged, letting the older one go first.

"Did you ever get a knock to the head or something, as a boy?"

Colborne was about to answer, and Harry held up his hand quickly. "Not a little tap in play or a slap from an instructor. Something hard. The kind that lays you out flat for a while."

"If it shut away your gift, then maybe the more recent injury shook it loose again." Tom spoke right over his brother, even though Harry clearly had more to say on the subject. "Pain can do strange things to a person. There was pain, wasn't there?"

"There was pain," Colborne confirmed, wincing even at the memory. "And no, I have not, to my knowledge, ever taken such a hit as a child, or—" He broke off, freezing in the middle of reaching for his cup. Instead, his lifted his hand to his head slowly until his fingers traced the ridged line along the side of his head, hidden under his thick blonde locks. "Does this look like it would qualify?" he brushed aside his hair, exposing the scar left by a bullet that had grazed him in the first war that he had actively participated in.

The Smith brothers looked impressed. "I would say so." Harry's brain was visibly working hard. "When did you get that?"

"Holland, in '99," Colborne informed him. "Grazed by a bullet. I wasn't a boy anymore, though."

"How old?" Tom asked, clearly trying to do the math and coming up short of an answer.

"One and twenty," the colonel supplied helpfully. He let his hair fall over the scar again and returned his attention to his tea "Too old?"

"No," Harry said. "Not too old. Very late teens, early twenties would be the typical time for your gift to make itself known to the point where you wouldn't be able to ignore it. And if you were hit by that bullet just as it had started to manifest …"

"Mystery solved," Colborne declared with satisfaction. "And if I catch that djinni, I'll give him a piece of my mind. 'Looked elsewhere for a moment'? That moment must have lasted at least fourteen years, from my father's death to that injury. Really, some definition of moment…"

His laughter was soon joined by that of all three Smiths.


	6. Chapter 6

Colborne had gone to bed early, trying to steal at least a few hours of sleep. Being ordered to march soon seemed inevitable now, and while he had no great love for night marches, specifically not in the kind of terrain they'd have to cross, it wasn't his call to make.

Sleep came easily. His day, when he had not been needed to do his duties in the brigade, had been consumed by Juana, Harry and Tom Smith, each in turn drilling him in the theory of elemental magic and offering advice on how to get his magic under control.

Sometime during the afternoon, he had started to ignore them.

Their Fire approaches were not working. The magic slipped through his fingers – or what passed for them mentally – just as if he were trying to form a rope out of water.

They had shown him how they worked the Fire magic, and it had looked quite grand, as if they were juggling with long, dancing wisps of unburning flames.

But fire formed flames on its own, and the shape seemed somewhat natural to it. Water, however, would not be pushed into a shape and guided that easily. Water goes where it will, he remembered. Around, under, over, through… it will find a way.

It certainly found a way around, over, under and right through the feeble mental grasp that he could get of it.

If he had not understood the necessity to drawing in all that loose power, and quickly, already, he would have when the third pot boiled over quite suddenly just because he was walking past, and he saw the elementals pour out of it, clamouring for his attention. Oh yes, he believed Harry that if he ever accidentally got the elementals in a river or even a pond properly agitated, he could flood and drown the camp, entirely without meaning to.

The elementals there were accordingly larger, too, though he had been told that size was relative among them, and could easily be adjusted to their habitat. One and the same elemental could look tiny in a bowl of clear water, and huge when set free in an ocean. Still, the more water they had to play with, the more mischief and havoc they could wreak.

He realised that they did not reflect his own mood either. Out of the corner of an eye, he saw one of the elementals – a naiad, he thought – drag away the gloves of a soldier who had greeted him somewhat more curtly than most of the others.

Colborne had not thought anything of it, but the elementals apparently felt slighted by the lack of attention to the man they considered their master – or at the very least their newest pet human.

Not seeing why the soldier should lose his property over something he would not even have found worth dwelling on for a second, and unable to call the elementals to heel and make them return their loot, he ambled over as if by chance, stooped town and snatched up the accessories in question before tossing them to where the soldier was settling by the fire with a flick of his wrist – his right arm was still good enough for that at least. "Yours, I presume," he noted with a smile before he walked on, leaving the man to wonder how he had been able to tell and how they had gotten that far away from his seat in the first place.

No harm had been done, but Colborne understood that control was essential. They were at war, after all. What if those elementals thought him in danger – perceived or real did not matter – and decided to come to his rescue, drowning people in the process? What if they started harassing his own men because their idea of appropriate conduct towards him differed from that of the elementals?

To get them to understand, he would have to harness his power, and to do that he had to be able to keep it inside himself first, then to give it shape and use it. If that was true for Fire, Air and Earth, it most likely was for Water as well.

He had to stop trying to handle water as if it were half-melted metal, though. Yes. The comparison seemed quite fitting, now that he had thought of it. Harry and his family were handling their magic as if it was a viscous thing that could still be shaped by pinching and tugging it into shape, whereas his ran from his grasp faster than he could gather it up.

What he needed was a bucket or, lacking that, a sponge.

As he let go of the image of hands gathering up strands of green and wrapping them around him, replacing it with one of opening up and simply absorbing the magic, the rush of incoming power left him light-headed.

"I think you got the trick," Harry commented as Colborne, feeling quite drunk on the magic, mopped up the last shreds of greenish glow around him. He could see the magic shine and pulsate just under his skin when he looked down at himself now. It was still there, but it was certainly no longer bleeding into everything.

Getting it back out to be used, however, was an entirely different matter.

A sponge could absorb water well enough – that was what sponges did, after all – but if you squeezed it, it was still going to do nothing but spill it all over the place.

*

Colborne's sleep was rudely cut short by a bugle call in the early morning hours.

Having anticipated it, he had slept in most of his uniform. He glanced around the tent as he slammed his feet into his boots.

No djinni anywhere. Undines raised by the sudden commotion, watching him curiously. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A greenish spill around him. Apparently he had not kept his magic soaked up very well in his sleep.

He rectified that oversight quickly.

Absorbing the magic was easy now that he had figured out the trick of it. The moment it filled him, the undines sprang into sharper focus, as did the threads of Harry's fire shield. He had no time to ponder that, though, since he needed to get going. He stuck his right hand into the sleeve of his jacket and pulled at the garment, hoping that he would not tear any seams while trying to get it on. A frozen shoulder did not facilitate getting dressed in a hurry.

He was still fishing for his left sleeve as he left the tent.

His horse was waiting for him saddled and ready. Everywhere around him, people were getting ready to leave. The camp was efficiently disassembled and loaded onto horses and mules.

Colborne had just mounted and sorted his reins when Harry appeared at his side.

The younger man held his horse's reins so loosely as if he didn't need them at all, and yet brought his mount to a stop next to the older officer's neatly. "Tonight," he said, his voice low so as to prevent them from being overhead, "I'll want to know how many mages and masters we have in the brigade. Try to sort them by power level."

Colborne nodded. If they were going to spend the day in the saddle, there would not be time for instruction of any kind. Setting a task that could be done from the saddle without risk seemed like a good idea.

He found that while he was holding all his own magic inside himself, he did not need to focus on seeing the magic. It was everywhere, in raw bits and pieces, flecks of it speckling the stone to the side of the paths they travelled, wisps blowing in the air. 

There were Earth elementals as nasty as any he had seen before, leering at them. Since he had no idea what to do if one decided to attack, he tried to ride in the middle of his men, and stick close to those who had the tell-tale orange sheen of fire magic about them. Those were the fire mages, and they were readily apparent to his eyes. Some glowed bright as a bonfire, others were more like the gentle light of a candle.

No one looked at him askance, even though he felt rather conspicuous with the green glow emanating from his own skin.

Harry, Juana and Tom, the three masters he knew of, looked like any ordinary person to his eyes, with no trace of the orange giveaway around them. They had their magic under much tighter shields than the mages – shields that they had said he would learn to build as well, at some point.

If the masters all had those, though, how was he supposed to recognise them?

He stopped focusing entirely on the magic that he could see, and instead kept an eye on how people behaved. Who showed signs that he could see the elementals lurking along the path, or the nymphs that fluttered all around their train, evidently drawn by the brightly coloured uniforms and the noise they made.

Once, he spotted their brigadier wave his hand in a careless motion that trailed streams of orange light before he sent the magic flying at one of the Earth elementals that had crawled into the road. For anyone unmagical, it would have looked as if he had simply loosened up a tense muscle in his arm. A number of the men who kept to the sides of the path were also working at keeping the nastier sort of elementals away if they ventured too close.

It wasn't only Earth that accompanied them on their march, though.

There was Cadoux, playfully swatting at what he could easily have claimed was a fly. Colborne couldn't help but grin as he watched the nymph cling to his fingers for a moment, before he shook it off. The nymph laughed soundlessly and charged the next soldier, swinging a transparent sword that went through everything without a trace. Oh yes, the elementals were having their fun with them, including those who could not see them at all. They still welcomed the sudden breeze that picked up around them which, Colborne assumed, meant that everyone got something good out of the situation.

They camped at nightfall, without bothering to set up tents. They would be back on the road in a few hours anyway.

He sought out the Smiths to report to Harry on what he had observed during the ride, and to share a new concern that had come to him during the ride.

"Do they see me?" he wanted to know. "I can tell the mages by their magic, and I can see my own magic. As a Master, I should probably be shielded like the others are, shouldn't I? Won't they know there's something wrong with me if I'm not?"

Harry took a moment to think that through. "Not wrong," he finally said. "That you're either extremely careless or badly trained, yes. However," he quickly added, raising a hand to forestall Colborne's response. "It's not as bad as it may seem. Fire and Water are antagonists, remember? The mages we have will be unable to see your magic at all. You could leak all over the place again and they'd be none the wiser unless they can actually see you use it. And the masters, well…"

"The masters can see it, but they still have to look for it, especially with their shields on," Juana finished for him as she pushed a bowl of food into Colborne's hands.

He smiled to himself. Really, he had never eaten so well in the field before.

"Most probably have you down as utterly unmagical," Harry explained, already chewing. "They'll not be checking until you do something with your magic and show them the error of their assumptions. You could have your shields up by then."

Could. If someone showed him how. If he figured out how to use his magic for anything.

"I was surprised to find Skerrett is a Master," Colborne admitted as he returned his empty bowl to his hostess.

Harry grunted. "He's a rough one." Seeing the colonel's eyebrows rise in question, he elaborated. "When we try to get the elementals to do something for us, we ask them nicely. Sometimes we bribe them. I feed my salamanders excess magic from myself, and magic I've refined from the world around me, to make sure they are interested in keeping me happy. Most people have their own ways of doing it. Some masters coerce their elementals, hold them prisoner, force them into doing their bidding. It's easier at first, but it is a bad, bad approach. In the long run, it is also risky. Their elementals will be waiting for any opportunity to get away from them, or to turn against their masters." He stretched out on the ground as if planning to go to sleep any moment. "Skerrett isn't like that, but he's still rough. Like… a parent who's beating his child half to death because he thinks that's the only way to keep the child on a good path. They don't mean any harm, or at least not much, but that doesn't mean they're not causing it."

Colborne nodded, even though he did not entirely get the younger man's meaning. Maybe, though, he'd find out more if he kept an eye on Skerrett. Knowing how not to do things would be almost as helpful in avoiding blunders as knowing how to do them would be.

*

They were mounted and on the road again before midnight.

Colborne had an acute dislike for night marches. In a best-case scenario, they gave you tired men in the morning. If you were less lucky, you got lost of ended up with injured men. The latter was a particular risk on the narrow, winding mountain paths they were now taking. The mountain dropped as steeply on one side of the path as it rose on the other, and a single misstep could lead to certain death.

Skerrett must have known that, too. Not for the first time, Colborne felt a surge of dislike for the man who would risk good soldiers in this manner.

Smith, as well as the other Fire mages and masters, moved a little more easily than their non-magical companions. Studying them with that twist of mind that brought the magic clearer into focus, he could see small light globes that some of them had called up, invisible to those unmagical, but sufficient for them to see where they were putting their feet.

Others, however, seemed just as sure-footed on the goat tracks they were climbing on without resorting to such means – or maybe they were simply doing so in a manner that was as invisible to the untrained Water Master as it was to the regular man. Colborne did not deceive himself into believing that he could see or recognise all there was to see yet. As a matter of fact, he fully expected it to take a long time until he could claim any such thing, if ever.

The path grew even steeper, and the officers had to dismount to lead their horses onwards.

He would have lied if he had claimed that he minded standing on his own two feet instead of relying on his horse's four. In better light, he would have gladly trusted in the animal's ability to find its way, but in the pitch darkness under a moonless sky, feeling his own path seemed preferable.

The men were shouting back and forth to make sure they were not getting separated – a very real danger here, and no one wanted to find himself suddenly alone in the middle of nowhere come morning.

One step slightly further to the left, and he felt the ground shift under his shoe, just as a sudden gust of wind buffeted him from that side and a disembodied voice hissed a warning into his ear.

"Thank you," he breathed at the unseen Air elemental that directed him back onto better ground. After that, he paid closer attention to the winds. If he ventured too near the precipice, it would pick up suddenly, as if to shove him back where it was safe to walk. While he did not feel entirely easy letting himself be directed so by spirits of Air, he started to wonder if that was how some of the Fire Masters did it. Fire and Air were on the best of terms after all. If so, why were they doing the same for him, though? Did they simply consider him part of the group? Was Water still sufficiently related to Air? Or had a certain djinni had a hand in that?

The path widened, and Colborne found Tom Smith by his side quite suddenly. The younger man moved as smoothly and silently as if he the night was lit like the brightest moon for him.

"Practical, those guardian nymphs of yours, Colonel," he muttered.

Colborne looked at him. There were no barely-visible shapes around Tom's tall frame, and yet the man walked with all the confidence of someone strolling down a London street instead of climbing along a sharp drop. "How are you doing it?" he wanted to know.

Tom made a vague gesture. "Mountains are born in fire," he said. "All mountains. They are still imbued with the Fire Magic that was involved. It grows weaker as the mountain ages and Air and Water chip away on it, but these are really hardly more than babies. I feel their outlines as if they were part of me."

On they climbed, and Colborne found himself wishing that he could copy that feat. Having those nymphs to protect him was nice while it lasted, but what if they decided to look elsewhere and pursue a more interesting task for a moment … say, a moment of 14 years?

He tripped over a rock and went down on one knee, catching himself on his left hand. Oh yes, feeling the ground in front of him would have been helpful. Actually, though, he would have settled for feeling the ravine to his left.

The next thought almost made him stop in his tracks in sudden realisation – a dangerous move if there were men pressing upwards after you.

Ravines were cut into the stone by water.

If Tom Smith could still feel the Fire magic that had once shaped the mountain, would he be able to feel the residue of the water that had shaped the ravine to his side?

He tried, extending mental hands to probe for the edge. There was something there for sure.

Without stopping his ascent, he tried again, and again, until quite suddenly the traces of a water magic that was nothing like the pretty green glow that he had seen before took shape before his eyes. This was a much rawer power, primal and entirely unrefined, and if what he saw there was a residue, he truly had no wish to ever see the original thing.

For the moment, however, the important thing was that the ravine was laid out clearly before him, in a green so dark that it was almost black and yet, for some reason, seemed to shine brightly in his mind.

An annoyed shout came from before him, and he realised that he had closed his eyes to see the magic better and sped up his step as he became more confident in his surroundings, causing him to almost bump into the man in front of him. He muttered an embarrassed apology as the nymphs giggled into his ear.

On and on they climbed, and Colborne began to wish fervently that they would stop soon. He was getting exhausted quickly now, physically as well as mentally. Keeping the ancient Water Magic in sight was draining. Smith, of course – either Smith, in fact – was still striding along as easily as if he wasn't doing anything other than parade his lady around town on a Sunday afternoon.

In general, however, the men were showing signs of fatigue. They, too, needed a break.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a scream and the sound of stone tumbling down into the ravine, along with a much larger, heavier object.

Colborne spun around, his mind filled with dread for the man who had just gone over the edge, his thoughts all too easily supplying vivid images of a broken body, still alive but out of reach, dying, slowly, agonisingly, down there…

And maybe if he had talked to Skerrett, he could have prevented this mad night march and an unnecessary death!

The sudden onslaught of emotion drove the nymphs from his side in a flurry. He had no time to think about that, however. The train had stopped, everyone waiting apprehensively for any sign that the man was still alive.

It came, after a moment, when a slightly shaky but otherwise perfectly cheerful voice called out from below.

"Hey there! Tell the Captain there's not a bit of me alive at all! Man, I don't think anyone has ever come down here quite so fast before. Now don't try to outdo me - The breach at Badajos was nothing to the bottomless pit I'm now in! Someone throw me a rope now, will you?"

Relieved laughter went up among the men, who looked not a bit exhausted now – though Colborne was well aware that exhaustion would creep right back in, and worse than before, once the excitement wore off – and Harry turned around to yell for a rope to help their lost companion back up the rock face.

As men scrambled to obey, Harry climbed the rest of the way up to Colborne, pushing past some men on their way back down to help.

Weak with relief, Colborne could only stare in surprise when he suddenly felt Harry's hand clapping on his shoulder. "That was well done, Colonel," the younger officer announced, though speaking only for the benefit of the two of them. "I didn't know you could control your Alliance that well already. I've never seen a flock of nymphs jump to the aid of a man with no magic at all that fast before."


	7. Chapter 7

"What's an Alliance, Smith?"

They had stopped by a small stream for a brief rest. Colborne was splashing cold water into his face and let it run down his throat and into his shirt. It might not be the wisest thing to do, but he felt _hot_ after the march, and at least the cold trickle woke him up somewhat.

"A Master can grant an Alliance with his element to someone. It's typically a gift to a new-born. Requires the elementals' consent to give. Air's probably the most likely to be willing to consent, since they're so very curious about things. The recipient can talk to the elementals of that Element, and ask them for help. He'd not be able to command them, not like his own element, but things like what happened down on that track…"

"Yes," Colborne interrupted him. "What did happen down on that track?"

Harry had filled his canteen and was now taking careful sips from the fresh water cupped in his hands. "A handful of nymphs attached themselves to you to keep you from wandering off of the track," he said. "Though from the looks of it, you managed fine on your own after a while. I'd like to know how you did that, by the way. When that man went over the edge, they came shooting away from you and down the slope, caught him and cushioned the fall. They actually set him down at the bottom quite gently, and he has no idea how he could possibly have fallen that far with only some slight bruises to show for it. Really, you would almost think he's disappointed he doesn't have any worse injury to show for his mishap."

"Probably afraid no one'll believe him when he tells his tale." Cadoux flopped down on a rock near them. "That was quick work, Master. I couldn't have done it that fast, for all that I'd played tag with that little nuisance most of the way up to keep her happy."

Colborne couldn't help a grin. "I saw," he said.

"Then again," Cadoux went on, "I don't have the benefit of an Alliance, and I'm barely strong enough to call myself Master. I'm just on good terms with Air because I bribe them with games. Otherwise, I've got enough to do to get Fire to work with me. – Don't get me wrong, Colonel: I can do anything a Mage can, but beyond that it's all very unreliable. Didn't know you were a Master until tonight, though."

He gave a wry smile as he considered his answer. Cadoux had been upfront about the limitation of his skill with him. He probably owed him the same.

"Even I didn't know until just recently," he admitted. "I'm only learning how to do things myself right now, and at the moment it's more guesswork than anything. Captain Smith here has informed me there are no other Waster Masters or even mages with our regiment."

"Water," Cadoux said. "Figures. Lucky you."

That earned him a questioning glance from Colborne, and he went on, gesturing at the stream. "You can replenish your stores right there," he elaborated. "While the rest of us would need a forest fire or some such thing - more than the tame little cooking fires we have in any case."

Considering that for a moment, Colborne turned to look at the stream. The undines in it were watching them, and he thought he glimpsed a couple of silvery, semi-transparent fish-shapes that must have been elementals of some kind as well. He shifted his vision – after the march up the mountain during which he had kept the ancient magic residue in sight, it came to him almost naturally.

Streams of green of various shades flowed in the water, dancing with the currents. These were lighter shades, a clear, purer and more well-defined kind of magic. For a moment, he thought he could see those strands bleed upwards and leave a fine shower of Water magic behind in the air, like tiny droplets of water suspended on the wind.

He couldn't keep his eyes fixed on that mist, however, and so he returned his attention to the running water again, and extended his mental sponge into it.

It readily sucked up magic from the stream, and he felt the inflow run through him almost like a jolt. His perception of the magic became clearer as his entire body shared the sudden rush of strength. The green mist rising from the stream condensed and became more clearly visible. He felt almost as drunk on the magic as he had when he had first taken up the magic that had spread all around him.

He cut off the flow, stashing away that sponge safely.

"You'll still have to sleep at some point," Harry cautioned. "The magic can tide you over for a time, but not indefinitely."

"I don't need indefinitely," Colborne replied evenly. "I just need to keep from dropping with exhaustion while we're on the move. It would set a very bad example."

Really, forced marches only a week from returning to active duty were not the most desirable thing. He felt much like he had in his days as a new officer, only getting used to army life. With an uncomfortable feeling, he remembered Wellington's comment on his appearance. A change of subject would be welcome now.

"Do you have an Alliance, Smith?" he asked Harry to steer the conversation back into more comfortable regions.

The younger man laughed. "Oh no," he declared. "For one thing, Earth is much less inclined to consent to an Alliance than Air is. They like things steady. For another, my parents knew they wanted a lot of children. My father being Earth, he could make it safe for my mother, too. Can you imagine what would happen if you have ten youngsters all trying to get the same Elementals to do opposite things? Chaos, I tell you! No, Sir, no Alliances for us."

Looking around to try and guess how much time they had left before they had to leave again, Colborne nodded. "Makes sense."

Harry poured some of the water over his hair and shook his head like a dog, leaving a spray of cold droplets on his companions. "So how did you do it? Know the path all of a sudden, I mean."

"Your brother told me how you do it," Colborne told him. "I figured that if the ancient Fire magic in the rock of the mountain was still visible to you then maybe I could see the Water that cut those ravines from the rock – and sure enough, there it was, all along the slope."

"But water always takes the path of least resistance," Harry answered, sounding surprised. "It doesn't—"

"Oh yes, it does," Cadoux said. "It wears away at everything slowly and eats its way through things one tiny bite at a time, but inevitably. You may not have to concern yourself with such matters, but someone like me, who might be challenged by any random Mage who thinks you're uppity for claiming a Master's title at your level of skill, does. If you get into a duel with a Water Mage, make sure you remember it. They like to chip away at your defences that way, too."

Colborne filed that away in his mind for later reference and looked up the mountain stream thoughtfully. Harry was right. It did take the path of least resistance, worming its way around larger rocks and other obstacles. He drew a line of water on a smooth rock that was only half-covered by the stream's flow and watched the next surge caused by someone stepping into the stream wash over the rock, surpassing the previous water mark. He saw the water follow his drawn line first, and further than it did where there had not been any moisture on the stone yet.

Could that be the solution to his problem?

He wasn't going to try now, not in front of Cadoux and who knew who else was watching them, though. That was something to try in the privacy of his tent, when he had it set up again, and a few hours to spare that he didn't need to catch up on sleep.

*

He didn't get an opportunity to try until a few days later.

They had come across a cluster of cottages and taken possession of them. Colborne hoped that the other officers had gotten better quarters than he had. He and the men who had been assigned to the same cottage had been grudgingly treated to a meal of what seemed to be yesterday's leftovers and stale water. They had, in the end, resorted to their own rations to quiet their stomachs, and stretched out on their coats.

Waking after a few hours of sleep, Colborne looked around the room, carefully checking the corners for anything that was not supposed to be inside lurking there. The cottage, like all the others, had been warded by their Fire Masters. No matter how tired they were, no matter how hard they had marched, any sleeping place of someone with as much as a shred of magic in him was shielded before they turned in. Judging by their efficiency, it wasn't the first time they did it.

None of the men who shared the cottage with him had any magic, so even if they had woken, they would have been unable to notice his haphazard attempts at using his. Still, he had no desire to endanger any of them by blundering along without really knowing what he was doing.

No djinni. Either the Elemental had chosen to believe him about his master's death after all, or he had once again gone off on one of his lengthy moments of looking elsewhere.

Colborne silently got to his feet and snuck outside.

The night air was pleasantly cool, the moon full enough to see reasonably well by. Colborne found a spot at a safe distance from the cottage and settled on the ground, leaning his back against a fence post and shifting his vision to see the magic. Green appeared in the air around him, as if every bit of moisture the wind carried was imbued with a tiny bit of magic of its own.

Ignoring that for now, he turned his attention inward, to the pulsating core of green inside his skin. He hardly had to think about keeping it in anymore, and he had hardly had any spill in the mornings these last few days.

Carefully, he dipped a mental finger into the magic and drew a line he wanted it to follow, digging an imaginary trench in the air.

The magic followed, lapping at the sides of the path he carved for it but mostly staying contained inside.

He experimented for a while. While he found no particular use for his new skill, he hoped that it would take him a lot closer to recreating some of the things that he had seen the Smiths do with their strands of power.

Satisfied with his night's work, he returned to the cottage to try to get some more sleep before morning.

As he entered, he kept an eye on the shield, trying to determine how it had been built. It looked smooth, without beginning or end, like a perfect, hollow sphere that had been called into being around the cottage.

Studying it more closely, however, Colborne soon saw that it was not as smooth as it could have been. There were tiny holes in it here and there, where the magic had either worn thin or not been applied properly in the first place.

A perforated shield was not exactly conducive to a calm night's sleep.

Could he fill them up?

It couldn't hurt to try, could it?

Cautiously, he extended a thread of magic with his newly found method, and directed it through the first hole that he could see. He held his breath as it went through, scraping against the Fire Magic as it did so.

Nothing happened. The Water didn't sizzle and evaporate, the fire shields didn't disintegrate. The two magics simply lay against each other, each contained within its own shape, touching without mixing and, most importantly, without leaving a hole between them.

With a determined nod to himself, Colborne let his mind slide over the shield's surface, examining it inch by inch, hunting for more holes, and weaving his own tendril of power in and out of them.

When he found no more, he considered the next problem: He now had a long thread of power running out of the core of magic inside him and weaving through the shield every which way, the loose end hanging from his grasp, and he didn't think it was a good idea to leave it like that.

The shield held on its own. Would his thread?

Only one way to find out, he assumed. The Water layers he had tried to pound onto Harry's shields at first had not lasted through the night, but bled out quickly. They had also been blanket-shaped things with edges on all sides. The more permanent shields that he had seen had all been spheres without any visible starting point.

He guided his thread of Water around to where he had stuffed it through the first hole, and pushed the free end into the green flow there before passing a mental hand through the connection between himself and that point and drawing the excess magic back into himself.

The string of green woven through the orange wobbled for a moment, as if considering its options, then steadied and held.

Colborne nodded to himself and wrapped himself in his coat again. Much as he would have liked to watch it to see if it continued to do so, he needed to sleep.

He closed his eyes against the bicoloured glow and forced his mind and body to relax.

*

The soldier found him the next morning as he was getting ready to mount his horse.

"Excuse me, Colonel." The young man looked and sounded thoroughly embarrassed.

Colborne looked at him in surprise, trying to think of possible reasons for that feeling. "What is it?" he asked, his voice friendly and, hopefully, soothing.

"I…" The soldier hesitated, swallowed and tried again. "Someone shot my shield through with Water Magic in the night."

Ah. That. Colborne's eyebrows went up. "It had holes," he said neutrally. "I thought I'd be more comfortable if it didn't."

"I'm sorry," the man said. "I didn't realise—" he was growing more nervous by the second.

Colborne's smile widened a fraction. He was hardly in a position to judge a man for how he used his magic. "I'm not angry," he assured him. "I saw them, I closed them, and I'm sure you will pay better attention tomorrow night."

The soldier nodded mutely but didn't go away.

"Was there anything else?"

There was another moment's hesitation, then the man looked up at Colborne with a silent plea in his eyes. "I need some help taking down the shield, sir."

Oh.

"I'm sorry," Colborne said quickly, turning away from his horse and walking back towards the cottage. "I never thought of that."

In fact, he had been so happy to see the strands of his magic still intact in and around the shield of fire that he had not thought of anything beyond the fact that he had figured out another little step on the path to becoming proficient in the use of his new skill when he had left the cottage that morning.

Harry was standing by the cottage, admiring his work, when Colborne got there. The younger man favoured him with a look that was somewhere between impressed and borderline vexed, like a teacher whose prime student had just put the teaching he had been given to a use so unconventional that it could almost be considered illegitimate.

He nodded a greeting to the younger officer as he reached out to break the strand roughly in the same location he had joined it, and pulled it back inside him by sucking on it as if through a straw.

It came willingly, swishing through the shield and snapping into Colborne's magic like a whipcord.

The fire shield that it had reinforced came down easily now, disappearing into the soldier, who muttered a quick thank you and hurried off to be about his business.

"What?" Colborne asked Harry. "It had holes."

"Shields are layered," the other man said. "Not woven."

He shrugged. "Woven worked for me."

"So I saw." A smile broke out on Harry's face and spread quickly, until his entire posture radiated glee. "Once you're a bit more advanced, we'll have to experiment with that! Oh, the things we might be able to do that no one has ever thought of before!"

Colborne smiled back, though he had no real understanding of what things Harry might have been thinking of yet. He assumed that he would find out.

"You still need to learn to put up a proper shield," Harry told him in a tone that brooked no argument as they walked back to the horses together. "You can't shield yourself by weaving a net or something. Though I assume forming a shield will be easier to do, now that you have apparently found a way to shape and use your magic."

*

As it turned out, forming a shield was, in fact, no easier to do now that he had found a way to shape his magic. He could – and did – reinforce another's shields by threading his own power through the weak spots, the parts uncovered before, but building his own was beyond him.

Colborne watched Harry and the others at work, observed how they built their shields. He saw the flames of their magic burn upwards and join, and he understood how those weak spots occurred.

Still, whatever he did, he could not get his own magic to move in anything other than a stream, following the path he carved for it. He could not carve a sphere, any more than a river could flow in the shape of one.

If Harry was frustrated by his failed attempts, he never showed it. The younger officer merely shook his head, scratched his chin and muttered to himself.

Juana took their difficulties more seriously. More than once had she burst into a flurry of berating herself for not paying closer attention to her roommate's schooling back when she had had the chance.

Some of the Fire Masters in camp had at least some basic grasp of Air Magic. According to Harry, not everyone went to the effort to actually learn how to control their major affinity, even though those with sufficient power could become quite skilled at it.

Harry Smith openly admitted that he had never had much of an interest in the magic of the other three Elements, apart from what he had acquired in play-fights with his many siblings. Tom apparently hadn't been much better. Cadoux, whom Harry had apparently been exempting from his 'do not enter' shields since their conversation by the mountain stream, freely admitted to his powers being limited to entertaining the Air Elementals and hoping for random acts of affection on their side.

Harry's wife, who had had the most structured training of them all, as it seemed, had the best grasp of Air – and some limited of Earth, as she said, though she would not touch any Earth Magic in areas devastated by war. That had to be left to an actual Earth Master, who could cleanse the earth that had been spoiled by blood and fighting.

She spent long hours putting up and taking down Air shields for him, hoping that Air, though his lesser affinity, would give them some hint how to handle Water shields as opposed to Fire ones.

Unfortunately, the exercise had proved quite in vain so far. To his surprise, Colborne found it even harder to follow the streams of Air Magic than those of Fire, which his assorted teachers put down to the fact that, living among a number of practicing Fire Magicians of all levels, he had become quite used to looking out for the signs of their magic, while he quite simply lacked practice in observing Air.

It sounded logical enough, but it still offered no help in solving the problem at hand.

A few days after his first experiments with the shield, they were back in the very same spot. The French had passed through in the meantime and left the place a shambles. The gardens were destroyed, the cottages plundered. They were assigned the same hosts as before, and Colborne's had not been improved by the experience.

After a quick supper on his own rations, he went in search of Harry and Juana. They had work to do, after all.

He found them still at the table, their own lodgings in no better condition than his, but the mood far better. The meal laid out looked suspiciously like it had been made up out of the Smiths' rations and biscuits, and Colborne quickly declined the offered share in the meal, noting that he had already eaten.

"I'll wait outside for you," he announced after a moment's thought. The Smiths' host looked sorry enough not to be able to provide them with a proper meal. He did not need to add to that. Additionally, he also did not think that a cottage with its non-magical owner inside was the right place to have a lesson. The last time they had stayed in this place, they had all been much too exhausted to work on his magic, and until he had woken and conducted his own experiments, Colborne had not even felt up to checking if his magic wasn't pooling again – which it still did, in some cases, when he grew tired.

He walked the remnants of the garden for a few minutes, taking in the destruction left by the enemy troops and feeling for the peasant all the more acutely due to what Harry had told him about their first stay here. These were good, decent and helpful people.

Something hadn’t been quite right with his rations, he thought as he sensed a queasy feeling taking hold of his stomach. He groaned inwardly. Getting sick from his food was the last thing he needed now. 

Vague at first, the feeling worsened quickly into full nausea. He kept on walking, sending up a silent prayer that it would go away again quickly and that his body was simply unhappy with him over some minor inconvenience.

His prayers seemed to be answered, since his stomach settled after another minute.

He felt alright until he had circled the garden, and the feeling returned, roughly in the same location as before. Now wasn’t that strange? He had never heard of nausea being connected to a certain spot within the confines of a garden!

When the experience repeated on his third round, he retraced his steps, and sure enough, the queasiness disappeared once he had walked back a little way.

Looking around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, unless you counted a destroyed garden and trampled crops as such.

Taking deliberate, small steps, he walked towards it again, trying to find the location where the feeling of nausea was worst. He forced himself to stop there, his stomach roiling and ready to relieve itself of what supper it had had. He clamped his mouth shut, and looked around.

Nothing. Plants crushed into the ground by boots and hooves, some broken tools, a clay cup thrown away carelessly, one of the nasty little Earth Elementals – of a small type that he had learned by now only posed a threat if they appeared in large numbers – were all he could see, physically or magically.

His eyes followed the elemental as it crawled off to the side and disappeared into a well.

A well. Wells usually held water, and maybe drawing a little power from it would help him discover what exactly was wrong here.

He didn't have to wrestle the cover off of the opening: it had already been broken to pieces that were scattered on the ground.

Colborne took one look into the well and recoiled, clamping a hand over his mouth as he fought a spell of dizziness and nausea so acute that he would have willingly gone to consult a physician if he had not been quite certain that it was magically induced. That well reeked of wrongness, but it was not a stench that he had perceived with his physical nose.

He forced himself to look back into the well with his eyes only.

The water looked normal, sparkling below, well in reach of a bucket thrown in by a short rope.

Adding magic to his vision, it became a putrid pit, murky and almost grey in colour, the liquid clouded with contamination and full of things that writhed like snakes and somehow reminded him of the Earth Elementals that he had seen around.

The difference was that he actually felt a vague connection with these creatures. Horrible though they were, they must be Water Elementals – Water Elementals gone bad. Or created bad, or whatever, but in any case they were nothing that he would have felt any wish to associate with. As a matter of fact, he wanted them gone from his vicinity even though he would be sleeping quite far away from them and under Fire shields. He didn't want them close to the Smiths either, for all that _they_ would be sleeping under double and triple Fire shields. And, last but not least, he did not want them around Harry's kind host, for all that _he_ , being unmagical, would hardly be in danger from them.

Well, maybe not from them, but he wasn't so sure about the water. It stank of dirt and disease to him, like something that had been rotting for days. There were clouds of something that was not supposed to be there swirling in it. The unaided eye might have been unable to see it, but his magic was not.

He almost turned around and went back to the cottage to warn everyone.

Almost.

The thought of what would happen if word got around that he had randomly declared a well spoiled without any good reason stopped him.

His jaws ached from clenching them by now, but he forced himself to look back into the water. What would he do if it were his well, and the contamination physical instead of magical?

Maybe applying a strainer to it would have helped, but he shuddered at the thought of immersing any part of him– even a mental strainer – in that mess. He didn't even know if there were such things as mental strainers.

He also didn't know how that mess would react to any application of his magic. Maybe if he tried with a very small amount first…

Separating just a droplet from the green pool within him, he dripped it into the well, wincing as it hit the surface and the terrible oily mixture inside started to churn around it. The bright, pure green of his magic seemed to push back the darker clouds for a moment before it was overwhelmed and swallowed.

If he added more, would it be the other way around? Could he push that dirt out of the water and leave it clean?

Only one way to find out…

Instead of a droplet, he poured a steady stream of magic into the water now, adding some mental force behind it to make it push at the darkness harder. It was work, as much work as drawing the water from the well, bucket by bucket. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into the water below, mingling with his magic as it slowly spread to cover every least bit of the water.

He drew his magic back then, letting out a relieved breath as he saw that it left behind nothing but clear, healthy water that shone with a brightness that surpassed even that of the mountain streams they had drunk from. Maybe it was a trick of his imagination, though, or his exhaustion.

His head swam as he straightened from where he had bent over the opening. A strong hand on his shoulder kept him from falling.

Turning his head, he found himself looking into Harry's face.

The younger man looked impressed, as well as somewhat concerned.

"Sit," he said, slightly pushing at Colborne to move him in the direction he wanted.

It was a relief to let himself sink to the ground and lean his back against the well, the water now a soothing rather than a nauseating presence in his mind.

Juana knelt by his side, handing him a cup.

He stared at it. Was that the one that he had seen lying on the ground before? He hesitated.

"Drink," she said. "It's safe. I cleansed the cup before getting the water."

"And if she hadn't, the water would have cleansed the cup," Harry added as Colborne took the offered vessel in a shaking hand and put it to his lips to take a sip.

The water felt wonderful. It had the sweetest, freshest taste that he had ever known, and after the first cautious moment to make sure that he would keep it down, he gulped down the cupful greedily.

It was certainly invigorating. Another moment, and he was ready to get back up, though he kept a hand on the edge of the well just to be safe. "What did I just do?" he asked, surprised that his voice didn't sound rougher. His throat had felt completely parched before Juana had given him the water.

"You cleansed the well," Harry said. "Usually, one starts with a small amount, a candle flame, or, I assume, a glass of water in your case, not an entire _well_ of it. One also usually starts with something just moderately contaminated, not the degree of unclean that well was." He glanced back into the well, shaking his head slightly. "I have no idea what those French poured into it to spoil it so."

"Probably pissed into it," Juana suggested. "Among other things."

Colborne didn't think he had needed to know in that much detail. "What now?" he asked.

"Now you made our poor host a most precious gift," Harry explained. "He has a supply of consecrated water right here in his garden. It'll cleanse the earth he waters with it, it will benefit those who drink it… He will probably be surprised at how well his crops grow all of a sudden, and how sweet the milk of his goats is."

"How long will it last?" Colborne wanted to know. He looked into the water, which was as still as it could be now, shining with bright magic and not moved even by the smallest undine. That was strange. Weren't they pretty much everywhere otherwise?

Harry chuckled at the question. "What is cleansed stays cleansed," he said. "Until someone deliberately spoils it. So unless the French come back--" he hesitated. "Come to think of it, just in case the French do come back…" He sketched a quick line of symbols onto the stone of the well in strokes of Fire.

"What's that?"

"A warning." Harry rounded off the last curve, his magical signs so much neater than his usual handwriting. "Wouldn't keep any of my brothers or sisters out, but an enemy Mage or Master will think twice about triggering whatever surprise I might have hidden in there, and someone unmagical should have a distinct feeling of wanting to be elsewhere if he approaches without belonging here."

Colborne leaned back over the well once more. Apparently he did belong here, according to Harry's magic, because he felt no desire to be anywhere but with that wonderfully clean water. "There aren't any elementals in there," he observed.

The other officer shrugged. "The ones that were in there came scurrying out as if chased by the devil," he informed his friend and student. "New ones won't find it easy to move in. The kind that you usually play with won't move through spoiled earth, so the well will probably be undine-free until the next rain – unless our host accidentally cleanses a path all the way to the next source of water, which I doubt. They'll be here sooner if the well has a connection to ground water, though."

Did it? Colborne thought about it for a moment. "It's a rainwater cistern," he decided finally. "It has a bottom and no water flowing in from below." He remembered the feeling of scraping along that bottom with his magic, trying to burn out every last bit of the vile stuff that had contaminated the water.

He looked back at Harry. "What do we do now?"

"We go to bed," his teacher decided. "Or more precisely, you go to bed. That was a major bit of magic you did there – you may feel fine now, but you'll probably crash again soon. Have I told you about the time I almost burned down the hayloft as a boy and had to contain all the fire that was going everywhere?"


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes, solutions came in the most unusual of moments.

The one for his predicament with the shields came as he was washing and his eyes fell onto the bubbles left by his soap.

Bubbles!

Water wasn't like flame, that grew upwards and bent around, and water wasn't like wind, which could go any which way, but water could certainly form bubbles. And what was a shield if not a bubble?

Excited by the new thought, he dried off and threw on clothes as quickly as his stiff shoulder would let him, before settling comfortably in a chair. His experience with the cleansed well had taught him that it was a good idea not to try new magic while he was in a position in which he could potentially fall over if he did not know how much energy he was going to need.

He had, since, acquired some practice at cleansing water. He made a point of keeping the sources his men drank from clean if he was given half a chance – sometimes the soldiers had already drawn water before he could get to it, though. It had never been as exhausting as that first time again, though he at least partially put that down to the fact that he had never had to deal with any water source quite as badly soiled as that first either.

Once he had gotten comfortable, he called up a drop of his magic. Instead of trying to push it into shape by squeezing it from the outside, this time he tried the opposite approach, pushing from the centre and expanding it outwards.

It stretched, enlarging slowly like a bubble that grew thinner and thinner, but without bursting.

It worked!

The rush of exhilaration that he felt at the realisation was enough to break his focus, and the bubble with it.

He tried again, using a slightly larger bead of magic to begin with this time around. He wasn't sure if size made any difference, but he thought it couldn't hurt, just in case.

Shields are layered, not woven, he remembered Harry's instructions as his bubble inflated to encompass his whole tent. It all but snapped into place against the shield that Harry had placed there, and he gave it a deliberate little push to expand it a little more, until it rested just outside the Fire one.

Both shields wobbled for a moment but held.

Colborne withdrew his mind to take a quick break before returning his attention to the thing he had just created.

It was still there, with a trickle of Water magic from the air around seeping into it in a constant stream of renewal.

With a smile, he called up another bead of magic from within him. Even though he was as yet unable to actually do much with it, the act of drawing on his magic had become as familiar to him as that of getting up in the morning: it was something he did without sparing it much thought.

Expanding his bubble, however, was not as easy, and even though he had already been successful at it once, it took him a couple of tries to get the second one expanded just far enough to encompass him.

He pulled back on it a little until it was just big enough, roughly the size that the Smiths' personal shields were when they made them visible to him.

What did his look like from the outside now? Was it anything like it should be? Would it do anything but shout 'Water mage' to everyone?

He went to find Harry and ask.

*

Harry viewed the scene before him with concern. The area they were in had been pounded by incessant rain and the river had swollen to a point where it was virtually unfordable, not only to a Fire Master like him. The only man among them who might still be able to cross it other than via a bridge and not be swept away and subsequently drowned might be Colborne, and even he had shied away from getting too close to the elementals that thundered down the river bed now, looking like foamy white horses that trampled down everything that stood in their way – not inherently evil or otherwise bad in any way, but simply much too powerful to be anywhere near the colonel's current level of training – or lack thereof.

The English held the only bridge in the vicinity, and the French, eager to cross to the other side, had advanced quite far, ready to try and take the bridge given half a chance.

Their general had set up their own lines in a location that baffled Harry, well _behind_ the bridge.

Skerrett himself, as usual, stood where he liked, without a care for the fact that he was not protected from enemy fire at all – which was not long in coming. Not for the first time, the young officer wondered if his commander had, in fact, some kind of death-wish, exposing himself like that.

They had men hidden in the houses by the bridge, and Harry mentally counted them and went over their locations again. They were good men, but there were too many French facing them. It wasn't that he didn't trust their own soldiers, but he was realist enough to calculate the odds based on what he saw instead of what he would have liked.

He turned his horse and urged it forward, braving the unrelenting enemy fire himself to get to where his General was standing.

A new thought came to him then. Was he picking his location so as to make it as unlikely as possible for anyone to choose to come to him to ask for orders or discuss the situation?

It didn't matter. Skerrett should have seen – and reacted to – the same things that Smith had by now. That he had not was not a very good recommendation for the man.

"What is it, Smith?" Skerrett asked curtly when Harry reached his position and brought his horse to a stop right next to him, never minding that he splattered mud all over the general.

Trying to keep his voice somewhat respectful, Harry reported. "General Skerrett, you need to send for the 52nd to help out there! They'll drive our Riflemen right out of those houses if this goes on for much longer. We don't have enough men to face them down." He took a deep breath. "Those men are going to fight expecting to be supported from behind! Just imagine what will happen if they realise they're on their own!"

There. Really, he should have gotten a medal for laying the facts of the situation, including the solution, out that neatly in the midst of explosions from enemy fire right and left!

Instead of taking the bait, or the opportunity to simply do as he was told and pretend that it had all been his own idea, Skerrett looked at Harry with a superior air as if he had just suggested something extremely foolish. "You think so, eh?" he asked, his tone and posture conveying exactly what he thought of it.

Harry felt the heat of a Fire Master's anger rise inside him. "So will you in five minutes," he snapped as he clamped down on the urge to throw a spell at the older man. Attacking your commanding officer, even with magic and even where only the two of you could see, was certainly not a good idea in the middle of a battle, no matter if you knew you were vastly superior to him in magic.

On the other hand, he knew all too well what receiving no support in spite of knowing that they had men ready to send to their aid would do to the soldiers' morale.

Before he could say anything more, however, the French moved, storming the buildings and taking possession of them in no time at all, while the English soldiers had no choice but to retreat to safety, leaving behind wounded and dead officers as well as soldiers among them.

Having taken the houses, the French controlled the bridge as well, which, as far as Harry was concerned, was also the General's fault. If he had only established their lines with the bridge behind, not in front of them!

As the dust settled, Harry gauged the new situation. The French were settling in, their own men had moved back. Still, while the enemy was too numerous for their numbers down here to drive back out again, it would be easy enough if they got some help from Colborne's 52nd. The only thing Skerrett had to do was send for them.

Still vexed with Skerrett, and unwilling to wait out his long and arduous decision-making process, Harry rounded in on the man who should have jumped to give orders long before this moment. "Do you see now, General? We can't stand by and watch them get comfortable in our houses! We shouldn't have let them in to begin with!"

Skerrett only favoured him with a mildly annoyed look. "I believe you are right," he finally admitted after another period of consideration that stretched unbearably.

Harry almost bounced in the saddle with impatience. He was ready to take off and get Colborne the moment Skerrett opened his mouth to give the order.

However, Skerrett did no such thing. He merely stood there, observing, his brow furrowed, his mind either at work calculating odds or whatever, or else – and more probably, Harry thought – elsewhere entirely, without any real thought for the mess they had gotten themselves in.

The mess _he_ had gotten _them_ in, Harry amended his thoughts. It was no one's fault but Skerrett's.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

He might as well have talked to a tree, and gotten the same answer. Actually, the tree might have rustled its leaves or sighed in the wind or spattered him with rainwater, which would have been one hell of a lot more of a response than he got from Skerrett.

With one glance at their soldiers and another at the houses now held by the enemy, Harry spun his horse around and put his spurs to his flanks, galloping up to where the 52nd was waiting as fast as his mount could take him across the muddy ground.

*

Colborne sat on his horse, waiting for an order that never came. He had observed the happenings by the bridge through his spyglass, and been told more by two bedraggled sylphs dashing through the wet air, trying to dodge rain drops and whispering everything that they saw going on down there into his ear.

Harry seemed to be arguing with Skerrett. Why in the world was he doing that? Didn't he notice that he was delaying the orders with every moment he held the man's attention?

When the French moved forward, Colborne very nearly gave orders to advance without the general's permission. No matter how hard he thought about it, he could come up with no reason why they would want to abandon that position, and with plenty for holding it.

Of course he knew that Skerrett was not a brilliant strategist. Actually, he was far from being any kind of strategist. Unfortunately, he also didn't exactly like being given advice, and apparently Harry was still keeping him from doing anything at all, no matter how badly thought-out it might be.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry wheeled his horse away from Skerrett and came racing up the hill right towards Colborne, bringing his horse to a stop so suddenly it almost sat down on its tail in the mud.

Colborne's own gelding danced out of the way, and the colonel tightened the reins, glad that he had shoved his spyglass into his belt the moment the other officer had started in his direction. Those things were expensive, and if he had still had his in his hands at that moment, it surely would be lying on the ground in pieces now – mud or no mud.

Much as Colborne would have liked to give Harry a piece of his mind about his conduct down there, he had no wish to draw out the time until they could take action. Talking about proper behaviour in the face of battle would have to wait for later.

Harry was undeterred by his inelegant stop or by Colborne's dark look. Without preamble, he explained himself. "Oh, Colonel, it's just terrible,  the things going on down there!. I told the General what would happen if he just stood by, but he still won't budge! We have to do something! The French can't possibly keep those houses!" The words were tumbling all over each other, but Colborne understood the gist of it well enough.

So it hadn't been Harry keeping Skerrett from giving an order, but Harry trying to talk Skerrett into doing so in the first place! He should have known, really. His friend and teacher might have been rash on occasion, but he was rarely foolish.

"Good to hear. I'd gotten quite annoyed at you for keeping up Skerrett," Colborne admitted quietly. He did agree. They had to retake the houses, and they had to do so now. Skerrett wouldn't give the orders and Harry couldn't, so there was only one thing left to do.

Turning in his saddle, Colborne gave his men the order to advance.

*

They had repossessed those buildings easily enough under Colborne's command, Skerrett never saying a word about it during or after. Lunchtime came and went, and Colborne was just talking to a few men about further orders when a messenger found him, announcing that Skerrett desired to see him in the general's tent.

Colborne went, ready to receive a good tongue-lashing for his earlier order. It might have been the right thing to do, but doing so with his superior officer right at hand, acting against his decision not to act, certainly merited a bit of yelling administered by that same superior officer.

He checked his shields as he went. Harry had managed to show him how to apply the outer layer that made him appear as ordinary as any of the other masters in the meantime. It still took focus to set up and maintain his shields in that manner, and they sometimes wavered when he got too distracted, but he was getting steadier in his use of them. The wards on his and the Smiths' tent were now layered Fire/Water every night, and so were those on the tents of a few others who had asked for it. It was tiring for sure, but it also gave him ample practice, and he had learned from previous experience that frequently repeated use of the same magical skill soon made that skill come naturally with hardly any thought. He could take the energy he needed for the shields from the water suspended in the air around them, especially when it was raining like it had been, which enabled him to preserve his own stores of power in case he needed them for something else.

The man who acted as Skerrett's servant ushered him inside as soon as Colborne arrived.

Upon entering, the colonel saw himself facing a most unusual scene, however, and one he thought Skerrett probably had not intended for anyone to witness.

A Salamander stood facing the general, but this was not the kind of Salamander that cavorted around the Smiths or even Cadoux. This was a scrawny little thing, looking half-starved and entirely frightened. It was literally trembling before its Master, trying to back away from him but held by a leash of orange magic.

Harry had warned him that Skerrett was rough with his elementals, but Colborne had not understood what he meant until that moment, when he watched the tiny thing shake as it pressed itself against the floor as if trying to merge with the earth.

He had seen others feed their Elementals bits of magic. Skerrett seemed to be doing the precise opposite, drawing power away from the frightened creature until even the Water Master started to fear for the Salamander's existence.

Colborne cleared his throat to announce his presence.

The general spared him a quick glance, then returned his attention to the Salamander. Smith had told him that it was not necessary to speak out loud to communicate with the elementals, though Colborne much preferred that to thinking at them, but he was quite certain that Skerrett was currently communicating with the one before him in precisely that manner.

The Salamander writhed, its orange dulling and flickering.

He took a step forward.

"Sir, with all due respect, but I believe that is enough," Colborne said, his voice steady and determined.

"Stay out of this, Colonel," Skerrett snarled at him. "I'll deal with you presently – as soon as I am done with this useless scrap of—"

"General!" The younger officer's voice had acquired a cutting quality, his tone now bordering on insubordination. "You're hurting him. He's just a Salamander, and a small one at that – he certainly cannot have done anything that would warrant such a punishment!"

Skerrett never interrupted the connection to the elemental, but he did look at his visitor. "It was supposed to alert me if the French changed their plans," he growled. "It did not. It needs to understand what obeying an order means."

 _He was probably too scared to show himself to you again_ , Colborne thought as he walked another step forward. The elemental's distress was almost palpable. The flickering worsened. Could an elemental be killed? Could they be done permanent harm in some manner?

"I said," Colborne said with strained calmness. "That is enough." Without thinking, Colborne drew up his Magic, forming a sheet rather than a bubble, like water running down a window pane, and slammed it down between Skerrett and the Salamander.

He did not know what he had expected to happen, or if he had expected anything to happen at all, but the moment he had done it, the leash connecting the two broke, and the Salamander scurried back and blinked out of sight.

"You!" The General rounded in on Colborne the moment he lost the connection with his elemental.

The sheet of Water Magic blinked out of existence as the power that it was made out of seeped into the ground.

"How dare you step between a Master and his elemental? It is not your place to question or interfere with the way I handle what is rightfully mine. Now look at what you have done! It's gone!"

That he was, and Colborne fervently hoped that he would remain gone and never show up close enough to Skerrett again to be recaptured. He wordlessly stared at the tips of his boots, biting his tongue to refrain from retorting something entirely inappropriate.

"Officer or no, I should have you flogged for stealing and destroying my property," Skerrett fumed.

"Very well," Colborne replied evenly, now lifting his eyes to meet those of the angry general. "If you find a way to explain salamanders and how exactly you just lost yours to the men, I will submit to it."

Skerrett fixed him with a fiery gaze. "Colonel," he ground out after a moment. "I have let your clumsy tinkering with magic go on for long enough. I will rid this brigade of you at the first opportunity – you may rely on that."

Now it was Colborne's turn to look shocked.

"Dismissed!" Skerrett snapped, apparently unwilling to discuss the matter of the anticipated order after all.

Lieutenant-Colonel Colborne spun on his heel and strode out of his brigadier’s tent, his head held high and a confidence in his step that he did not feel at all right then.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry, too, had had quite a bit to say on the matter of the Salamander when Colborne told him. While he did not condone Skerrett's conduct, he did agree that it was not any Master's business to interfere with how any other Master handled his elementals. After submitting to the scolding of his teacher without complaint or sharp words, and then another one administered by Juana, Colborne retreated to the safety of his own tent before Tom Smith or Cadoux could add their own. While all of them submitted to him willingly enough in military matters, and took great care to address him respectfully before the other men, and at times even before each other, Colborne was very much aware that they all rightfully considered themselves vastly his superiors where magic was concerned.

They were probably right, too. He should have at least talked to Harry before getting between Skerrett and his Salamander. The poor thing had looked so frightened, though, and he had honestly feared for his life. The Smiths had spent quite some time that night explaining that elementals were not mortal, and that whatever Skerrett did to the Salamander could only have make him uncomfortable, but not actually hurt him.

A small element of doubt was added to that again when Juana did admit that no one knew how the bad Elementals came to be, and whether they might have once been regular Elementals of the kind they all conversed with and used for their purposes, that had been warped and twisted one way or the other.

Afraid that the French would make another attempt at the bridge and his 52nd would be required to help out again, Colborne had gone to bed as early as he could, hoping to steal enough sleep in spite of tossing and turning for a while thinking about the Salamander and wondering what had – or would – become of him now.

When he did fall asleep eventually, his dreams were troubled and confused, but he did not wake before the first rays of sunlight fell into his tent.

Something was different – he realised it the moment that consciousness returned, but it took him several seconds to figure out what it was.

Usually, these days, he woke to the ache of cramping muscles in his stiff shoulder and arm that would recede slowly as the day wore on, as long as he did not put any excessive strain on that arm. He had gotten so used to it that he hardly thought of it anymore.

This morning, he woke free of pain, with a comfortable warmth spreading across his shoulder and halfway down his upper arm, as if someone had spread a heated towel on it.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head and found himself looking into the small, dark eyes of a Salamander that had chosen his shoulder for his bed, his legs spread out to the sides, his head resting near the base of Colborne's throat, and the tip of his tail halfway down his arm. While he didn't know for certain, he had a distinct feeling that he knew exactly which Salamander that was. He looked a little bigger than he had yesterday, though that might have been because he was completely relaxed now, while the day before he had been coiled ready to spring away the moment Skerrett let go of him. Now, in any case, he was about the length of his hand, with maybe a few extra finger widths of tail tip. He rubbed the tip of his snout against his shoulder affectionately, leaving behind a trail of comfortable warmth that did not burn.

"What are you doing here?" the man wanted to know. He didn't really expect an answer. Fire Elementals were not in the habit of talking to Water Masters.

The Salamander seemed to think differently about that. _Yours_ , he said in Colborne's mind. His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, and had a timid tone to it.

"I think you misunderstood something there, little one," Colborne said as he moved carefully, trying not to startle him. "I'm a Water Master and you're a Fire Elemental. We're not supposed to mix."

 _Yours_ , the Salamander repeated more determinedly now. As his bed shifted, he collected his legs and came to sit on Colborne's shoulder – a precarious position since the injury had left it at a downwards-sloping angle that made it most likely for anything trying to sit on it to slide off.

Colborne sighed. "You can't stay with me," he told the Elemental. "But I know someone who can take care of you."

The Elemental merely looked at him out of eyes that he could have sworn looked pleading.

"He'll be good to you," he promised. "He's not like Skerrett."

He left his tent, carefully lifting the flap clear of his passenger, and made for the Smiths' home. If they couldn't provide a good place for a frightened little Salamander, he didn't know who would.

"Smith, are you up?" Colborne asked as he entered the tent without waiting for an invitation.

A grumbling Harry rolled out of his cot. Apparently he had been trying to steal a little sleep as well. "I am now," he informed the older officer. "What is it?"

"I, erm…" Colborne looked from Harry to the Salamander and back. "I found something in my bed."

Harry stared at the Fire Elemental perched on the Water Master's shoulder and was slowly crawling backwards one tiny leg movement at a time, apparently trying to disappear into Colborne's collar given half a chance. "Is that the one you took from Skerrett?"

"I didn't take him!" Colborne defended himself. "I only wanted to help him, and he was in my bed this morning. He says he wants to stay with me."

The younger man shook his head. "You're a Water Master. You can't keep a Fire Elemental."

Colborne gave him a flat look. "You don't say?" He pointed at his new friend. "Tell _him_ that. And tell me what to do with him now."

"Return him to Skerrett?" Harry ventured cautiously.

"No!" Colborne shot back forcefully, accompanied by the Salamander's much more timid _No_ and a distinct tightening of the tail that now lay around his neck. "Can't you take care of him?"

"Skerrett's going to skin me alive," Harry muttered, but he did hold out a hand and pull up his magic to call the Salamander to him.

Properly called by a Master of his element, the Elemental reacted, creeping forward und stepping over onto Harry's arm, where he was offered a few morsels of Fire Magic as a treat.

He lapped them up eagerly and seemed quite content to remain where he was. So that was taken care of.

Trying not to feel sad about losing the Salamander – he had never been his to keep to begin with, and he had known that! – Colborne retreated out of the tent, trusting in Harry and his wife to make the little Elemental feel right at home with them.

*

Colborne did a quick tour of the camp, checking on some of the men and making sure that everything was in order and that everyone was still ready to act on short notice before returning to his tent to write some long-neglected letters while he still had the time for it.

He heard the news on his way there – Wellington had dropped by to inspect his lines.

Before anyone could have mentioned the last day's near-disaster to him, Skerrett had ushered him into his tent for a private meeting. Colborne hoped that his guess as to the object of that debate was wrong.

The first page was half filled with writing when something suddenly appeared on the desk next to his inkwell, very nearly overturning it.

The Salamander, very well fed now, looked at Colborne with a mixture of reproach and relief in his eyes. Reproach for abandoning him with Harry, Colborne assumed, and relief for not having moved out of his range yet.

With a sigh, Colborne shook his head. "You can't stay with me," he told the Elemental once more. "Harry would be a good Master to you. All his Elementals love him."

 _Yours_ , the Salamander breathed and climbed from the desk back onto Colborne's arm, then continued his ascent until he snuggled against the side of his neck. _Safe_.

That gave Colborne a new idea. "Do you mean it's safe with me because I can't command or coerce you?"

The Salamander looked at him with as much confusion as an Elemental's eyes could convey.

 _Yours_ , it repeated. 

A messenger arrived before he could argue the point any further.

"Sir, the Field Marshall himself wants to see you," he told Colborne without losing any time. "I'd hurry if I were you. He's not in the best mood."

Colborne sighed. Wellington in 'not the best mood' was not an experience one usually enjoyed.

He stood, heedless of the Salamander clinging to his shoulder.

"I'd stay here if I were you," he hissed, low enough to avoid being heard by the other man, as he left the tent and hurried where he was directed.

At first, the Salamander only tightened his grip on Colborne's jacket. The closer they came to their destination, however, the more nervous he became, until finally Colborne felt as if his shoulder was vibrating. He reached up, trying to keep his motion unnoticed, and stroked the tip of the Elemental's snout with a calming finger. _He's not going to hurt you_ , Colborne promised the salamander, thinking the statement at him as hard as he could. _He's not going to hurt us._

Truth to be told, however, he would have been more comfortable if he had known what Skerrett had told Wellington before entering the tent.

Since he wasn't given that choice, it was best to get the entire affair done with as quickly as possible.

His hand still protectively held over the salamander, he entered and looked around.

General Skerrett was nowhere to be seen, but Wellington wore a dark air around himself that would have been plenty enough for both of them.

For the shortest moment, shields became visible around Wellington, shining with a kind of magic Colborne had never seen before, entirely strange and yet oddly familiar.

Colborne's response was more clumsy, a brief display of his own shield, slower in appearing and slower in being concealed again. At that moment, he was deeply thankful to Harry for having drilled him in exactly that brief glimpse of powers that Masters and Mages would often grant to each other in the scope of introductions. He had not mentioned Wellington being a Master, however! He'd certainly give him a piece of his mind concerning that later. A warning would have been much appreciated.

"Does your shoulder trouble you, Water Master?" Wellington asked coldly, his tone making clear that he was not in the least concerned for Colborne's health, and very much with his standing properly at attention.

"No, Sir," Colborne said and took down his hand, exposing the trembling salamander.

Scorn was heavy in Wellington's voice as he went on. "Has no one told you that Water does not play with Fire?"

"I am aware of that, Sir," Colborne admitted.

"And has no one told you that a Master does not interfere with another Master's handling of his Elementals?"

The blond head nodded. "I have been informed of that," the Colonel said.

Wellington's eyes narrowed. "And yet you did."

He hadn't exactly been informed of it in that much detail before that, but Colborne wasn't going to try to hide behind his ignorance. "I saw a creature in distress, Sir," he explained instead. "I witnessed a punishment unnecessarily cruel and I stepped in."

"It is not for you to decide what is or is not necessary between another Master and his Elementals," Wellington pointed out. "Also, they are not _creatures_ , as you called them."

Colborne ducked his head slightly. "Yes, Sir."

"What happened by the bridge yesterday?"

The sudden change of subject came unexpected, but if it was intended to throw Colborne off-balance, it failed miserably. "The French took possession of the houses by the bridge and thus held the only crossing of the river a long way up and down from here," he explained calmly, looking right at Wellington again. "We had to seize control again, and the men already down there were outnumbered, so I took the 52nd down. It went quickly, and we were successful."

"Lucky for you," Wellington grumbled under his breath. "Did General Skerrett give the order for that attack?"

He wouldn't lie. "No, Sir. I did."

"You are, of course, aware which one of you commands the brigade?" Again, the derision in Wellington's voice was almost tangible.

"Yes, Sir. I anticipated the command, it is true."

Wellington studied him for a moment as if daring him to go on. Colborne clamped his mouth shut and said nothing more. If the other man was waiting for him to tell him that their brigadier was a useless, indecisive, slow-minded prick of a man who couldn't make a decision even when all their lives depended on it – which happened all too often in a war – he could settle in for a long wait.

Colborne held the older man's icy eyes. Icy, he thought. That's exactly what he feels like. Come to think of it, the entire tent seemed to be several degrees colder than it had been with Skerrett in here.

"The first time we met," Wellington said, changing the subject again, "You had no magic at all in you. How can it be that you are now standing before me as a Water Master?"

That was safe ground at least. "It appears that the first wound I took in war shut away my magic," Colborne explained. "The recent one seems to have given me access to it again."

"I wasn't aware your recent injury was to the head," Wellington snapped.

He hurried to nod. "It was not, Sir. But the wound to the shoulder was extremely painful, as was the treatment, as was the removal of the ball. Pain can do the strangest things to a man's mind."

He received a grudging nod for that. "Did you use your sick leave in England for something sensible then, instead of just getting married?" the older man wanted to know. "Such as learning to control your power?"

A lie would have been a bad idea, he was certain of that. "No, Sir. I only became aware of my magic after I returned to my regiment. I have been learning to use and control it since."

"There is no Water Master nor Mage with your brigade," Wellington pointed out.

The man certainly was well informed. "Some of my officers have done their best to give me the basics," Colborne answered, refusing to give him names. He probably could imagine very well just who would be unconventional enough to do something like that. "I may be learning slowly but I _am_ learning."

"Not good enough."

Colborne's skin prickled as a gust of cold air seemed to wash over him. The Salamander disappeared down the back of his jacket.

"Sir?" Colborne asked, uncertain of what Wellington meant.

Wellington ticked off points on his fingers. "You are a Water Master without training. You have interfered with another Master's Elemental, _possibly_ without meaning to or realising what you were doing. Your shields are cobbled together like a patchwork quilt with threads coming loose left and right. You take lessons from men who do not have the skills they try to teach. You lack the basic skills of your Element. You cannot guarantee that your power will not break away from you and put the entire brigade at risk. You, Colonel Colborne, are a liability that I cannot afford to have at my front."

Colborne waited.

"In addition to that," Wellington went on, "you have overridden your commanding officer and made decisions that were not yours to make. The outcome may work in your favour, but Skerrett would have liked to court martial you for mutiny. Well, we won't have that."

"Thank you, Sir." It seemed the only thing remotely sufficiently corresponding to what he felt to not be an outright lie, and still suitable for the company he was in.

"General Skerrett wants you gone from the brigade, and preferably the war, and knowing what I do about the situation, I agree."

Colborne stared at the man who organised their side's part in this war. He couldn't have heard him right!

Wellington, however, went on, oblivious to the younger officer's reaction. "Since it would be hard to explain Magic to most people, you will be sent back to England as soon as an opportunity presents itself. We have Water Masters in London. You will be assigned to one of them, and learn the proper use of your Element. If the war is still going on when you have mastered that, you may request to be allowed to return to the continent."

At a loss for words, Colborne nodded mutely in acknowledgement. Sent home to learn the basics and be out of Skerrett's way. It was almost as bad as being tried for mutiny. Worse, since he knew he would have had any number of men behind him in the second case, whereas as things were, most would never even know why he had suddenly gone back. Would they make up some reason to send him away, or would it quite simply remain unexplained if it took too long for Wellington's – or Skerrett's – taste to find a suitable explanation?

"I trust that you will conduct yourself in the most proper manner towards your general and the men until you depart," Wellington went on, apparently oblivious to Colborne's reaction. "You can be assured that what I do or do not hear about you will greatly influence my decision about letting you return at some point in the future."

"Yes, Sir." He tried hard to keep his voice neutral and not to betray the disappointment he felt. The salamander, however, sensing his distress, wriggled inside of his jacket until he was resting against the back of his neck again, just inside his collar, a comfortable warmth.

Of course he would not be able to take that Elemental back to England with him. He was Fire, after all. He surely would not want to cross the sea in a ship. 

"Sir, may I have permission to leave?" Colborne asked, speaking still in the same carefully restrained tone. "I need to settle a few things to make sure that I will be ready to leave immediately when the time comes."

Wellington dismissed him with a curt gesture.

Colborne turned and left the tent with his back straight and his head held high, although he felt very much like a schoolboy just coming out of the principal's office after being told that he was going to be sent home in ignominy for a particularly badly played prank.

*

One of his first ways took him back to Harry. The salamander had to understand that he could not stay with him. He didn't even know if Fire Elementals could cross the ocean. It could hardly be pleasant for them, in any case.

He almost walked right into Harry at the entrance to his tent.

"I was just going to find you," the younger man said. "I have bad news for you, Colborne. I fear I lost your—" He was cut off when the Salamander's head peeked around Colborne's neck. "It appears you found it."

Stepping aside, he let man and Elemental into the tent.

Colborne dropped into one of the folding chairs and prayed that Juana would have tea to offer. He needed something to soothe his nerves now.

His prayers were answered, and the Salamander ventured down his arm to poke its nose into the hot beverage.

Its Master carefully took a sip of his own before looking at the Smiths in turn.

"He's sending me home," he said flatly. "He believes that I am too much of a liability in my untrained state. He wants me to train in London."

Harry bit his lip uncertainly. "It's not that bad," he offered finally. "Just look at what you learned here, without a real teacher, even. With someone who knows what they're about, why, you may be back within a few weeks, and all the stronger for it!"

"I fear not." Colborne forced a tired smile onto his face. "General Skerrett desires very much to see the last of me for yesterday's command to attack. I believe my time with this brigade has truly come to an end."

"But—" Harry almost yelled, then dropped his voice at a signal from both Juana and Colborne. "But that was me coming to ask you, and you had to act, and Skerrett wouldn't, and— Is Wellington still in camp? I'll go and talk to him. I'll tell him what happened. I'll ride after him if I must. Where's my coat?"

Colborne made a cutting motion with his hand. "No, Captain Smith." He rarely pulled rank on Harry, of all people, but this was one of those times. "You will do no such thing. I am the higher-ranking officer and I was responsible for that order. I will bear the consequences for it. All that I need you to do is to take care of this little one while I'm gone." He indicated the salamander, now once again perching on his shoulder.

Looking about to argue the point, then reconsidering, Harry shook his head. "I don't like it," he said. "but I'll submit to your rank, if nothing else. And I can try, but it doesn't want to stay with me, I fear. Really, that must be the first Elemental ever to get so attached to a Master of its antagonist Element!"

In response, the salamander's forked tongue flicked out of its muzzle, licking across a bit of skin at Colborne's throat that his high collar left exposed. It was hot, but not burning.

"Well," Juana noted as she poured Colborne a fresh cup of tea. "That explains why there's a whole horde of undines and naiads making their way up to Skerrett's tent - with nothing but mischief in mind, I'd wager."

The colonel very nearly spilled his drink at that. Quickly, he extended his mind and mentally scrambled after the Elementals. The _last_ thing he needed now was for any Water Elementals to interfere and try to avenge him – no matter if their target was Skerrett or Wellington. He called them back, one after the other, begging, pleading, explaining and, finally, issuing a military command. The last was, albeit sulkily, obeyed.

He tried to divide his attention, returning most of it to the Smiths while still keeping some scrap of it on the Elementals, just in case they decided to forget his orders.

That having been taken care of, Colborne rounded on Harry, changing the subject as he did so. "Smith, did it ever occur to you that it might be a good idea to inform me that our Field Marshal is an Elemental Master?"

Harry looked a little sheepish in response, as Juana swatted at the back of his head with a hand that had held the tea pot just a moment ago. Colborne forced himself not to wince.

"You did not tell him?" Juana scolded her husband, who ducked his head and rubbed the mistreated spot. "You let him walk in there without telling him?"

"I didn't know he was going to be called to him!" Harry tried a weak defence.

"You should have told him!" Juana determined just before she turned towards Colborne. "He is an Ice Master," she explained, talking pointedly away from her husband.

Colborne's eyebrows rose. "You have mentioned Ice Masters before,” he noted. "But the only thing I know about them is that they exist".

Juana looked ready to whirl back towards Harry and administer another reminder of his teaching duties.

Colborne quickly put his hand over hers to stop her. "Isn't ice related to water?"

She shook her head emphatically. "Ice is the absence of Fire," she explained. "An Ice Master was born a Fire Master but at some point in his life decided to turn away from Fire and towards Ice. Often, they do it because Ice is cold and cannot be touched by most things emotional, or hurt. Heartbreak may do it, or a particularly unpleasant childhood, …" she shrugged.

"Is it dangerous?" Colborne wanted to know.

"Not as such," Harry said, earning another fierce glare from Juana, who continued as if he had not spoken at all.

"Not like a corrupted Earth Master would be dangerous. That man certainly isn't harmless, but that's because of the immense power he wields. Even if you were fully trained, you might still be equals in a duel. But for what it's worth, he's just a Fire Master using his gifts in a slightly different manner."

Considering that Colborne had no intention at all to duel Wellington, that would do, as far as he was concerned.


	10. Chapter 10

The evening came and with it a very upset Harry Smith sought out Colborne, bearing a handwritten note in which he had put down Skerrett's orders – much the opposite of anything either of them would have done.

Colborne scowled at the lines, as much because of their content as because of Harry's abysmal handwriting.

All that guarded their bridge was Cadoux with the sad remains of his company. They should have had a lot more men down there.

They should have had every single man down there, or at least within easy reach.

"We'll come down as soon as we hear the first shots," Colborne promised the younger officer. “Then we'll be right at hand when the order is given.”

Harry didn't ask him for any more than that. He knew that Colborne would have made his situation infinitely worse if he had taken matters into his own hands again. The salamander was concealed inside his jacket, refusing to stay behind, but too afraid to be seen by Skerrett to dare to venture out.

Colborne rubbed his forehead with one hand. He was quickly developing a headache from the strain of keeping back the Elementals. Every single Water Elemental within calling range seemed to have gone mad with the desire to pay Skerrett back for interfering with the only Water Master around.

When night fell, Colborne and his men lay down fully dressed, their weapons by their sides. They would be ready.

There was no sleep for their colonel, though. He wondered what he would do when the need to sleep grew overwhelming. There was no way that he could keep his Elementals in check while asleep.

He should have asked Harry that, but the problem had never occurred to him before. Maybe Wellington was right after all. Maybe he should take the next ship to England and get proper training.

Musket shots tore him out of his pondering. He jerked upright and crossed the distance to his horse at a run.

As he slid into the saddle, he started working his sword free. Really, he had to get a sheath for the other hip. Drawing was one of the things his right arm could no longer do. The stiff shoulder prevented his hand from even touching the hilt. He drew the weapon with his left, awkwardly. The reins in his right, hoping his horse would be sleepy enough not to wander off without his say-so, he held the sword flat across the front of his saddle in his left, waiting.

By the time they had reached the location where he had promised to be, the battle was in full swing.

Cadoux and his men fought bravely, pushing back the enemy who endeavoured to storm the bridge. A very few men made it through and dug themselves in on the other side.

The river was churning with rainwater and Elementals.

Elementals.

 _There_ , Colborne thought at his Elementals. _You want to help me? Help me here, then! We have to keep the French from crossing!_

The waters seemed to spring to life, lapping at the enemy. For a moment he wondered if that would be considered a violation of orders, but no one had ever told him that he could not send his Elementals to help. They were certainly neither army property, nor soldiers.

At the edge of his awareness, he felt something that he never had before, like a power diverting his elementals. They seemed to be getting confused about whom to aid and whom to stall every now and then. He tried to point out to them how to tell friend from foe, but he became quickly and keenly aware that it wasn't easy to get them to understand human ways of differentiating between people. Picturing the French uniforms in his mind only worked for as long as he held the image and thought it at them. He couldn't keep on doing that. Part of his mind needed to stay on the battle, waiting for Skerrett’s order to intervene. It had to come. It should have come minutes ago. The men at his back felt the same, as he could easily guess from their restlessness. They wanted to help their fellow soldiers down by the bridge.

Straining his eyes hoping to spot a messenger riding up with Skerrett's orders, Colborne laid eyes on a group of four salamanders crouching on the ground. They were scrawny little creatures, looking miserable and scowling at him with the sullen air of sentries who thoroughly abhorred being given that post but were unable to refuse.

Skerrett's, he assumed, making sure that he wasn't putting a single toe out of line. Would they report his Water Elementals? If they did, that would be something he just had to deal with. He couldn't undo it now and he wouldn't have if he had been able to.

The French started another attack, and Colborne felt himself getting rather desperate for that order. His horse shifted uneasily as he tensed.

A whisper sounded by his ear, as close as if he were standing right next to the General. He didn't have to look to know that there was an Air Elemental hovering right next to his head, relaying the words. It wasn't one of the sylphs that flitted through the air everywhere, but something roughly bird-shaped. Harry called them Ravens.

'So he's got his men out and all ready to attack, has he?' Skerrett's disembodied voice whispered, the tone that of a man muttering to himself under his breath. 'He's in for a long wait if he thinks I'll let him interfere.'

Now he did turn and stare at the Elemental, as if it were somehow at fault for the general's statement. _He didn't just say that_ , Colborne thought at the Raven as emphatically as he could. _He can't have said that._

The bird's head bobbed up and down twice.

 _He can't risk the bridge and the lives of all the men down there just to spite_ me!

The Raven cocked its head to one side and looked as apologetic as a bird's beady black eyes could.

Colborne looked back down towards the river. Another man had just fallen on their side. They needed to intervene, and now!

If he gave the command to charge, his men would follow him gladly.

If he gave the command to charge, after being told to not 'anticipate' the general's orders again by both Skerrett and Wellington, he would be in even deeper trouble than he already was.

If he did not give the command to charge, those men down there would lose their lives, and for what? Because Skerrett wanted to have out his private war with Colborne – which as far as Colborne was concerned hadn't even existed before Skerrett had declared it.

He could – probably would – give his career another big setback if he led the charge now. He could not really afford that after the long recovery from his wound. He had a wife to support now.

There were men dying down there.

He wrapped the reins firmly around his right hand, sent up a silent prayer that he would be able to control his horse mostly with his legs – a trick he had never quite mastered as well as he should have – and raised his sword over his head in his left hand to get everyone's attention.

He could hear and _feel_ the men behind him still, watching him intently.

Bringing the blade forward with a sharp movement to indicate direction, Colborne closed his knees on his horse's sides. "Charge!"

His mount jumped forward, all too willing to be on the move.

The Elementals tore from his grasp as he focused on staying in the saddle and indicating a rough direction to his horse with the limited movement left in his right arm and his spurs.

No – they _were_ torn from his grasp. This wasn't a matter of them going against his will or forgetting who they were supposed to attack, he realised so suddenly that he jerked back, pulling hard on the reins without meaning to.

The horse under him came to a sudden halt that sent him toppling forward. The animal's long neck and a couple of sylphs grabbing on to his sleeves kept him from tumbling into the dirt. He felt the animal shift uncomfortably as he rearranged himself in the saddle without dropping his sword or stabbing himself or his long-suffering mount.

Something exploded between a group of men rushing forward, just like a shell would, but they seemed entirely oblivious to it. Colborne could hardly believe his eyes as he watched them barge on regardless, running right into – and through – the explosion.

That was when he realised that he was not looking only with his physical eyes – looking at the magic had become so automatic by now that sometimes it was almost more than he could do to separate the real world and the magical one. He was looking at a magical shell, and out of it flowed, seeped and spluttered not fire but waves of green that tied themselves around the ankles and knees of the advancing men, tripping several of them. Other threads of that magic flowed over them to cover them, and where they found faces, closed up noses and mouths and rendered the poor men unable to breathe or cry out for help.

Abandoning any attempt to get his horse back into the charge, Colborne focused and tried to sort out the magic in that shell. It was Water for sure – the colour and feel were just right. It was much more refined than anything he had ever used, and it knew exactly what it was supposed to do.

He poked at the waves of green with his own magic, growing increasingly frantic as the men's struggles – unheeded by those rushing past – grew weaker.

The strange magic flowed and streamed through and around his attempts to divert it, slipping from his grasp, moving around every barrier he tried to set up for it or flowing right through it as if he were cutting through a waterfall.

Water…

If you had liquid on the floor that you needed to get rid of, what did you do?

Mopping it up didn't work. He couldn't get the kind of connection to this magic that he did to the free one in the air, or any that he himself had set up.

If mopping up wasn't an option, you could always wash it away with more liquid.

Desperately, he dumped a mental bucket of water magic over the entire mess and put a surge of magical power behind it, forcing it to wash away from the men.

It took most of the strange magic with it, and what remained was in shreds, unable to do much but twitch uselessly on the soaked ground.

The soldiers scrambled up, coughing, looked around for a second to orient themselves and stormed right into the fray. Later, they would probably talk about tripping, getting their faces full of mud and almost choking on it – if they were willing to admit to such ignominy at all and didn't prefer to pretend it never happened.

The river was lapping at his men, and he diverted his attention to the undines and naiads and the other Water Elementals whose proper names he did not know because his Fire teachers had no idea what they were called, and gave them a gentle but firm reminder whose side they were on.

Another shell came in, and he dumped another bucket onto it before it could do much harm.

Flashes of light caught his attention, and he saw that someone – or several someones – was shooting down some of those magical shells with fire. Lucky for him, really. If all or even most of them had gotten through, he wouldn't have stood a chance to clear them all away.

Already, the Elementals needed another reminder. This too was happening too frequently to keep it up for much longer.

Looking at the fighting soldiers and the commanding officers gave him an idea. If the Elementals kept changing sides, maybe a few officers of their own could keep them in line.

There were a handful of undines and naiads that were steadfastly on his side – those that shared his tent when they could and that followed him around the camp. Harry called them 'Colborne's' Elementals.

He reached out to touch them, asking them to stay out of the fighting and instead direct everyone else. In return, he felt a wave of smug satisfaction radiating off them. They liked being put in charge of something. It made them feel all important and valued.

With a silent grin and hoping fervently that his plan would work out, he turned his attention back to the battle.

Cadoux was just starting another charge.

The water shells had stopped, but the ground near the river was growing increasingly swampy, threatening to make everyone who stepped on it slide right into the icy torrents that would most likely deposit the unlucky fellow a good way downriver as a corpse.

He couldn't dry out the ground. Pouring more water in wouldn't do any good either – quite the opposite.

Seeing the flows of magic that kept feeding the mud and made it move to stay clear of the Frenchmen's boots was no help at all. He couldn't cut it off, he couldn't stop water with water that way. He was certain that there were ways, but he didn't have the time to figure them out right now. He'd think about it later. For the moment, he required a quick solution. Quick and preferably effective!

A sylph dove through one of the water flows, making the magic splash like actual water hit by a stone or even a sudden gust of wind. It turned and came back, retracing its path, causing another splash.

Air?

He was hardly able to handle Water yet!

But he had seen Juana handle Air, and maybe, if the Air wanted to be handled…

Turning his focus towards the fragile yellow wisps that Air magic was to his eyes, he tried to push at the streams of green with it, blow it away, divert it elsewhere.

It didn't work as well as he would have liked it to, but it did work, at least a little. He was on the right track. Some of the fire mages more proficient in air should be doing this, really. Where had they gotten to?

Something tugged on his pants leg and he swatted at it with his hand, not wanting to spare the attention. The tug was renewed, more insistently, and when he did turn, he found himself looking down at Harry Smith.

"Get off of that horse, Colonel!" he snapped. "You're a target!"

Smith was low to the ground, keeping his head well out of the area of most danger.

Colborne followed his instruction and dismounted, surprised at how much purchase his feet found on the muddy ground.

"You're doing good," Harry told him. "Skerrett's livid, but you're doing great. If you can keep that Water Master of theirs occupied a little longer… Just stay away from where the bullets are. We can keep them from shooting right at you, but stray balls have been known to kill a man!"

Only now did Colborne realise that someone had put another layer of shields over his – standing alone without touching. He certainly would have noticed if something had _touched_ his shields, and it most likely would have broken his concentration. It was one of those _look elsewhere_ shields that Harry said didn't work against anyone who was too familiar with you.

Really, if you listened to that man, you would think that all everyone in his family ever did was try to play pranks on each other.

Still, the shields seemed to work against strangers well enough, at least those strangers without the magic to see the shields as such, so they should be keeping him safe from any Frenchmen trying to shoot an officer. Harry did have a point about stray balls, though, and Colborne crouched low beside the other man.

"Skerrett's sent me to tell you to get your men out of here and _now_ ," Harry explained. "Too bad I couldn't find you in all of this fighting.

"I need help with Air!" Colborne quickly told the younger man before he could hurry on. "That Water magic trying to pull our men into the river can be blown away, but I'm not very good at the blowing."

Surprised, Harry considered for a moment. "I'll pass it on," he promised. "See if you can find the Water Master and point him out to us. We're pretty evenly matched on Fire, but that one might just tip things to their side if we can't take him out."

Because the only Water Master we have isn't even half-trained. Harry didn't need to say it. Colborne was all too keenly aware of that fact right now.

Relying on Harry's word that the magic would be taken care of, Colborne grabbed on to one of those green strands and started mentally following it, tracing it back to its source.

It didn't take long for him to find the Water Master. In his magical sight the man – too far away to be seen with his physical eye, and Colborne was not going to take out a spyglass just to admire his opponent's looks – he looked like all that Colborne could ever wish to be: a steady, strong source of green magic, brightly radiant and drowning out the lesser orange glows around him. That, of course, was due to the fact that he could see his own Element that much better than its Antagonist, and not necessarily to the relation of individual power levels.

He drew in as much power from the river as he fed into the strands of magic going out from him – and there seemed to be thousands of them, all sustained at once, all held under control. The swollen river supplied him with a vast amount of power, replenishing his stores as quickly as he could spend them. It was a thing of beauty – but like so many beautiful things, it was also quite deadly.

The position he was in was well defended. He wasn't going to be easy to take out.

From the corner of his physical eye, Colborne saw Cadoux lead another charge and, as he had almost reached the bridge, reel in his saddle as a ball hit him and go limp over his horse's neck.

A thread of green reached for the animal's hoof, and it spooked, rearing up high on its hind legs while its rider slipped off to fall into the mud below. The horse slipped in the wetness, pawed the air with its hooves and overbalanced, crashing down right on top of the fallen man.

After a moment, it scrambled back up, limping away as quickly as it could. Cadoux lay where he had fallen, unmoving. Green tendrils were crawling towards him, joined by reddish-brown ones that seemed to spring out of the earth right and left now, moving on their own accord instead of being directed by a mage, soaking up the blood that mingled with the water on the ground and sapping the last strength of the dying, joined by Earth elementals of the darkest sort that ran rampant on the battlefield, feeding on the pain and the violence, the destruction and the blood.

For whatever reason, Colborne knew precisely which ones of the men that were lying there were dead, which ones still alive, and which ones were dying right now. They showed up so very differently to his magic.

Although he lay motionless where he had dropped, Cadoux was very much alive, and strong enough to remain so.

Colborne dumped a bucket of magic out over the man to wash him clear of the vile things – for the moment at least. A rare kind of anger seized him. He shouldn't be lying there. He should never have been left to defend that bridge all on his own with the sad remnants of his company! And that Water Master was stretching out his green claws towards the injured man yet again, trying to complete what his fellow's ball had started.

He raced back down those lines of green all the way to the source. There was no time to wait for someone to get into position to get a good shot. He poured a current of Water over the man, trying to wash away as much of his power as he could before it could find its way wherever it was directed.

He felt his opponent's surprise almost as if it were a tangible thing. Really, now – had his attempts to divert his power before been so feeble that the other Master had not even noticed them?

Colborne pulled at the power from the river, trying to copy the other Master's trick of routing it through himself and using it without spending his own.

With the other Master doing the same, though, and far more skilfully at that, Colborne knew he wouldn't stand a chance to keep up this struggle for long. That torrent of magic directed at their men had to be shut off, and preferably right there at the source.

He didn't know how to do that with water against water – he already knew that the power streams would just flow around each other. Frantically, he grabbed for what air he could find, and while it came willingly enough now, he had no idea what to do with it.

Maybe – maybe if he built a shield that could keep magic in, and anchored it to pull in power from the outside like the ones they used to ward their tents and sleeping places.

How would he go about that, though?

Forcing himself not to think about all the things he didn't know, he started with what he did know: build a shield. Think about how to make it do what you want it to do later.

He grabbed at the yellow streams of air, and groaned when he realised that in contrast to water, they would not bubble. They blew here and there, teetering in his grasp, but they would not form the hollow sphere that he needed.

Resorting back to his first experience with shielding, he seized the longest strand of Air magic and started coiling and weaving it around the green that was the Water Master's magic. Around and around he went, weaving and knotting until he had a cage.

It still had holes far too big and they let through the Water Magic easily, but he grimly set to stuffing them, shooting them through with water from the river. He grabbed a thin line of Magic in either hand – Water and Air – and spun them together, hoping that like a rope the result would be all the stronger for it. The powers did not mix, of course, but they twisted around each other obediently and raced through the holes, air merging with air but still keeping the water that was twisted into it strong and in place. One of the air spirits zipped in, carrying a strong gust of yellow wind, and Colborne slammed it into his bicolored shield, feeding it. Following a sudden inspiration based on the sylph dashing upward in a spiral, he gave that supply line a sharp twist, setting it spinning and fanning out into a funnel to draw in more power.

The Water Master reacted with astonishment, then amusement, then anger and finally fury as he tried to smash Colborne's shield to pieces and failed.

The green had stopped flowing away from him. It wasn't even seeping out anymore. Neither was any going in, the strands the Master had used to supply himself before now feeding into the shield instead. That wouldn't do, though. Who knew what the man could do if there were too much water in the shield?

Colborne grimly called up a bubble of water, formed one of his round shields and stuck it on top of the woven one without touching it, then redirected the water powers to go into that. He wrapped the whole thing around with another few strands of air and, for good measure, followed up with the thickest, strongest Water Shield he could manage, just in case some Air-capable Fire Masters around came to the man's aid.

He hoped that this bought his side a respite at least long enough to focus on the physical fighting and the elemental battles that they were used to.

His magical awareness rushed back towards the line that was his own magic and slammed into his waiting body so hard that he almost felt it jar his teeth. He shook his head – his physical head – slowly, trying to get his bearings. For some reason, he was on his knees in the mud. His head swam as he started to climb to his feet, mentally scolding himself. Once again, he had spent far too much power, drawing on his own strength when he could have taken it from his environment instead.

He had to do better than that next time.

With that thought, John Colborne collapsed and fell face-forward onto the drenched earth.


	11. Chapter 11

Colborne woke with a dull headache and a parched throat. The last thing he remembered was returning into his body after taking care of the enemy Master. Opening his eyes, he tried to get his bearings.

His tent. This was definitely his tent. He was stretched out on his cot. Someone had gone to the effort to undress him and drape a blanket over him. He could hear the steady dripping of rain on his tent. So was it still raining – or again?

Someone had draped a rag soaked with cold water across his forehead, which he appreciated, as the coolness seemed to ease the headache a little.

The area in front of his bed swarmed with undines and naiads. He knew most of them by sight. Some of them had adjusted their appearance to sport random bandages. Knowing by now that the appearance of Elementals was a rather arbitrary thing – they were able to adjust things at will and add and remove clothing and other accessories, he could not help but chuckle at the sight. Apparently they felt that that was an appropriate appearance for individuals who had recently fought a hard battle.

They watched him with various degrees of concern on their faces, as did the salamander that was once again draped over his shoulder, but scurried up to enthusiastically lick his face when he saw that Colborne had opened his eyes.

Sitting up and catching the rag in his left hand as it fell off while trusting the salamander to find a place to sit on his own, he tried for a reassuring smile.

"Did we win?" he asked, his voice hoarse and scraping in his throat.

Emphatic nods were his answer and his smile widened. "Very good," he told them. "You fought wonderfully."

They beamed at him proudly.

Before he could say anything else or get out of bed, the tent flap was pushed aside and Juana's small form appeared in the opening.

"I hear you're finally awake," the young woman announced.

"So it would seem," Colborne agreed, and rubbed his throat. "How long was I out of it?"

"Almost two days," Juana answered. Without being asked, she poured him a cup of milk from a pitcher that waited on his table. She stirred something into it before she brought it over. "Drink," she ordered.

Raising his eyebrows at her, he put the cup to his lips and drained it in a single greedy gulp. It tasted sweet, of honey and something else that he couldn't place. "What happened?"

"You exhausted yourself," Juana explained, her tone just a little scolding. "You kept on using your Magic well after you should have stopped, until you simply collapsed. I'm not allowed to be angry with you, Enrique says, because you saved everyone by taking out the other Water Master."

"So it worked?" Colborne was half-surprised to hear that, and somewhat proud of himself, even though he probably had gone about things stupidly.

Juana nodded. "We have no idea what you did, but whatever it was, it worked. Can you repeat it if you have to?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Yes," he decided. "And probably faster and better, because I know how to do it without breaking down afterwards, I think." He was pretty sure of it in any case. "This exhaustion – does it have any effects I need to know about?"

Juana prepared another cup for him. "No lasting damage, if that is what you mean," she said, her voice taking on a crisp tone. "You just need to sleep it off. The best thing would be if you turned over right away and slept some more, but Skerrett has ordered that he wants to talk to you as soon as you are awake – and he had his salamanders all over the place. They will have seen the one that got me when you woke."

Colborne nodded, slowly, hoping that the movement would not aggravate his headache.

It didn't, and he sat up straighter, keeping the blanket around him so as not to give Harry's wife a view of things her husband would not appreciate her seeing. "My uniform – I can't go see Skerrett like this," he said as he accepted the second cup to drink it much more slowly. "What did you put in this? And have the undines done anything to Skerrett while I was sleeping?"

She held her hand out for a third refill. "Honey for your throat and some herbs that help replenish magical energy," she explained. "We all know what this kind of thing feels like – it's like you swallowed a handful of ground glass. It'll pass, but this will make it pass a little more quickly." Dismissing his attempt to thank her, she went on. "Your Elementals have been in here, keeping watch over you, ever since you were brought in. I had Antonio wash your uniform, though he pointed out that he was not a washer-woman."

The scene was easy to imagine. His servant was not exactly the most enthusiastic worker in the camp.

"I trust you managed to convince him," Colborne said.

"Of course I did!" Juana snapped in reply. "He tried to point out that Harry's servant doesn't do his washing either, so I asked him if he'd like us to pack up your uniform and send it to your wife to be washed, and just what would everyone say if his master had to go about like that for the months it'd take to come back."

In spite of drinking much more slowly by now, Colborne almost choked on his milk. He could just imagine the reaction of his gently reared wife if she were to receive a package from Spain containing a uniform soaked with bloody mud and vile things and being asked to return it cleaned.

Juana shook out the garments and draped them over a folding chair for him. They looked as clean as could be expected. She put his spare shirt on top of the rest, clicking her tongue at a tear under the right arm. "You need someone to take proper care of your things, Colborne," she declared.

"It's fine, Juanita," Colborne assured her. "I'll manage."

She looked at him doubtfully, waiting.

Putting aside his cup, he indicated the door flap. "Now, if you don't mind? I'd like to get dressed, and I don't think your Enrique would appreciate it if I did so with you watching." As a matter of fact, parading more than half naked before his friend's wife was not high on his list of things to do either.

Mock indignation darkened her features. "As a matter of fact, Colonel, _mi Enrique_ knows exactly that he is the only man I look at, ever! Also, do not think that I have never seen any naked men in camp before – they are not all as bashful as you are, and I can assure you that they are all built to the same pattern." She threw up her hands. "But I will leave. Do not think that I will come back if you faint from the exertion and want some help, though!"

He held back his chuckle until she had gone.

The Elementals on the floor stirred uneasily, apparently concerned about his condition as well. Very carefully, he climbed out of bed and stretched. The headache was well within the bearable.

"I'm fine," he reassured them. _Or I will be once I've survived Skerrett's wrath_ , he added in thought. One of the undines crept towards the door flap.

"How where do you think you are going?" Colborne demanded.

 _Nowhere, Master_ , the undine returned meekly, creeping back to her previous location.

"You weren't by any chance trying to be at Skerrett's tent before me to do some mischief, were you?"

The undine didn't reply.

 _You're to leave the man alone_ , he tried to broadcast to all of them, wincing as the dull headache acquired an edge. His magic felt sore, like a muscle strained by unfamiliar use and expected to work again the next day.

"Do you understand?" he asked aloud as he stuffed his legs into his breeches.

The Undines nodded, in the way a schoolboy would nod when he was trying to make the teacher believe that he was planning on complying with the instructions given when he had no intention of doing so. "You're not going to help me by doing anything to him! Quite the contrary – you'll just make things worse for me."

Maybe he could use the same approach that he had back during the battle.

"You," he pointed at one of the undines. "You, and you. I leave you in charge of making sure no mischief is done."

The assorted elementals looked at each other and around the tent as if trying to find the "you's" indicated by him. His headache worsened and he briefly pressed the heels of his hands against the sides of his head, massaging his temples in the hope of relieving it a little.

Then he pointed at one of the undines right in front of him. "What is your name?" he asked.

Did Elementals even have names? Harry probably would have said no.

 _Name, Master?_ The undine asked.

"What do you call yourself? What do other undines call you? How do they know it's you someone is talking about?"

She seemed amused by the notion, but eventually conveyed to him a stream of sound like water flowing over a rocky bed. If that was supposed to be her name, he'd never be able to reproduce anything like it.

Colborne shook his head. "How would you like it if I gave you a new name?" he asked.

 _A new name, Master?_ The undine sounded intrigued and slid closer.

"Yes." Colborne struggled into his shirt, trying to get it on without widening the tear. "What if I called you Eleanor from now on?"

The elemental's face lit up with a smile. _I like that, Master._

"Very well," Colborne said. "Eleanor and …" He pointed at another one. "You will be Isabel," he told her, drawing a pleased giggle from the Elemental.

Before he could go on, all the others crowded around his feet, clamouring for names of their own, and he quickly found himself having to scramble frantically for a sufficient number of female names. He almost named two of them Cordelia.

"Now," he said when they had all quieted down again. "Eleanor, Isabel and Sally are in charge. You three keep everyone else from doing mischief or getting anywhere close to Skerrett, do you understand me?"

The three – as well as all the others – nodded their heads eagerly.

Colborne slipped into his jacket and slammed his feet into his shoes, which still felt damp. Apparently his clothes had been dried by a fire, but his footwear had not been.

A hot little snout stretched up to poke his cheek. He turned to look at the salamander. "What is it?" he asked, a little more impatiently than he had intended to. His headache had not lessened.

 _Name?_ The salamander asked.

Colborne sighed and said the first name that came to his mind. "Alexander. You'll be Alexander."

 _Like_ , Alexander replied and curled around Colborne's neck.

"You might want to hide somewhere," the man suggested. "I'm going to see Skerrett."

He didn't exactly feel the salamander's weight vanish from his jacket – the elemental had no weight, strictly speaking, but the comfortable warmth disappeared.

The Water Elementals had leaked out of the tent in the meantime. By the time Colborne followed them and squinted into the light – much too bright for comfort right then – he could not help but notice that for once, his plan had not worked out. Apparently, the elementals put in charge only remembered his order to keep the others back for as long as the others remembered that he wanted them away from Skerrett. The whole bunch of them was presently looking for tricks to play.

Extending his mind, he called them to heel. His head started pounding before he had covered half the distance between his own tent and Skerrett's. This was going to be a long, long day.

 

*

 

To say that Skerrett was not in the best mood would have been an understatement.

"Took you long enough," he snarled at Colborne the moment he entered.

"I came as soon as I could," Colborne claimed, fighting not to wince at the volume of the general's voice. Keeping his elementals out of the tent was taking more out of him than he probably could afford, magically. However, militarily, he most certainly could not afford to let them run rampant.

The older man ignored that. "You were expressly told to stay out of trouble," he hissed.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Colborne said, his right hand by his side and his left on his back, wishing he could clasp hands to make it easier to keep from reaching up to hold his head. "The battle with the French Water Master took more out of me than I expected."

"You had no business there in the first place!" Skerrett shouted, oblivious to the fact that the presence of Colborne and his men had been the only thing that had enabled them to hold that bridge, or deliberately ignoring it. "I did not give the order nor the permission for you to attack!"

Since he had already dug his grave the moment he had decided to lead that charge, Colborne decided to stand his ground. "Sir, with all due respect – it was the only reasonable course of action. The men needed the reinforcement, and badly. We would have lost that bridge and thereby the only crossing of that river in this area. We had orders to defend that bridge."

"It was my job to determine how those orders were carried out," Skerrett returned angrily. "And I had no intention of involving _you_ of all people, Colborne."

"Yes, Sir," Colborne made himself say, though it sounded a little less obedient than it probably should have. "I did what I thought was necessary."

"You had your orders!" Skerrett all but yelled at him.

Colborne ducked his head and stared at the ground while he adjusted his features into something that might have barely passed as chagrined. "Yes, Sir."

"You will leave this camp at the first opportunity," Skerrett said, his voice dangerously quiet now. "When the wounded are taken away, you will go with them. That 'knock on the head' you took will require you to do so. Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded. "Perfectly clear, Sir." So that was it. The opportunity to send him away had come far more quickly than he had thought likely, and he had delivered the perfect excuse, too. The knowledge that without his intervention they would have suffered far more casualties than they had anyway, and might even have lost the bridge, was little consolation now.

"Also, Colborne," Skerrett continued in a tone almost as icy as that of Wellington at times. "I will not have any more of your improvised magic while you are in my camp."

"As you say," Colborne muttered in response.

He felt something push its way into his awareness, imposing itself between his conscious mind and his magic.

Skerrett's face had acquired a grim smile. "And I shall make sure that you do not forget," he declared. "As a matter of fact, I shall make sure that you cannot decide to simply go against my orders in this again."

Colborne turned his mind inwards, looking at what his commanding officer had done.

Similar to the shield he had laid around the enemy Water Master's magic – had that held all the way through the battle, by the way? He'd have to ask Harry about that when he saw him next! -, a sphere of Fire Magic was now placed around the green core glowing inside Colborne, cutting off his mind from his magic.  

He cautiously probed it, sliding his mental hands over the smooth surface and feeling for faults.

The shield that he had patched up that night when he had first learned to shape his magic and get it to move where he wished had had tiny holes, just large enough to feed through a tendril of power, no thicker in his imagination than maybe a finger at best. It was hard to believe that that had been less than a month ago!

If that shield had been a tarpaulin with a few pinprick holes that would let some rain water through, Skerrett's so-called shield around Colborne's magic felt like a rag only good enough to fuel a fire anymore, with holes large enough to let a whole fist through, including the arm attached to it.

Still, its intent was clear enough, and while it was reassuring to know that he could still access his magic if he chose to, Colborne was secretly relieved by Skerrett's attempt to shut him off from his magic.

So the man wanted him unable to use it? Fine. He would stop using it.

Colborne closed his eyes for a moment and let go of the threads that he used to keep his Elementals in check.

The pressure on his head eased, and he almost expelled a sigh of pleasure as the pounding stopped.

Skerrett did not pay enough attention to realise his reaction was anything but appropriate for someone who had just been shut off from his magic. That, Colborne assumed, was lucky for him. "I understand, Sir," he said without meeting the general's eyes. "I will go and pack then, and inquire when we will be leaving. Sorry to have caused you trouble."

He wasn't, not really, but there was no point in angering the man any further. So he'd go back, get that training – he did agree that he needed it, and badly – and then see about where he would go after that. India, maybe. They needed men in India. The peninsula was, after all, not the only place where their soldiers were posted, and while India may have been a far second-best, he'd take what was offered. Of course, while Indian officers tended to be sneered at at home, it also promised better chances of promotion. He only hoped that his wife would not give him too hard a time when she learned he was being sent back again already.


	12. Chapter 12

Colborne left Skerrett's tent and carefully stepped over two undines rushing the other way.

With a mental nod at them but without extending any magic, he continued. He'd go back to his tent and set Antonio to packing, then find out where they had put the wounded and go there to inquire about plans for transport.

His headache had settled to a more bearable level, now that the strain of holding the Elementals back was gone, but he was certain that it still would not be difficult to convincingly explain that he had a crippling headache that required him to leave the front.

Harry, walking through the camp on some errand of his own, spied him and changed his direction.

"How'd it go?" he wanted to know once he was close enough.

Colborne frowned. As a Fire Master, Harry couldn't have missed Skerrett's contraption on his magic. "I'm to leave camp with the first group of wounded being taken away," he reported. "I have been ordered to suffer an extended severe headache from the bump on the head that knocked me out. As expected, he wasn't happy with my interference. I'm half surprised he didn't try to have me court-martialled for insubordination."

The younger man shrugged. "He's probably afraid he'd have to answer questions about how it came to happen. I can only imagine how high our casualties would have been if you hadn't stepped in, and enough people saw you fight that Water Master to report to Wellington that without you on the field, we would probably have all been eaten by the river in the end."

"Speaking of which," Colborne interrupted. "What happened to him after I went out?"

Harry shrugged. "He wasn't seen or heard from again," he reported. "I'm going over to where they keep the wounded to check on Dan anyway. Are you coming along?"

He might as well get it over with right away, Colborne figured. He nodded.

"Then let's go." Harry started walking at a brisk pace. The other man hurried to follow.

"By the way," Smith added after another few seconds. "Shouldn't you be doing something about those undines? I think some of them are leaving wet gifts in Skerrett's tent."

Now it was Colborne's turn to shrug. "I'm banned from using my magic," he said, not bothering to suppress a grin. "I wouldn't be able to if I wanted to – he barred my magic from my grasp anyway."

That brought him a loud laugh from his friend. "I was wondering why you were putting up with that unholy thing," he admitted.

"Un-holey?" Colborne returned. "Hardly. But it's the thought that counts."

They hadn't gone far when Juana spotted them and came over to join them. She looked Colborne over with a disapproving glare.

"Your Elementals are drenching Skerrett's tent," she told him. "Are you _trying_ to get into trouble?"

Putting a reassuring hand on her arm, Colborne shook his head. "General Skerrett expressly forbade me use of my magic, Juanita," he explained, quickly following up with a summary of his earlier encounter with the man and concluding: "As you can see, I don't really have a choice but to let them do what they wish. Holding them back would be going against express orders – again – and I don't think I need any more insubordination on my record with Skerrett. Do you?"

She shook her head mutely, apparently not fully agreeing with him, but didn't argue the point. Neither did she leave again, however, instead choosing to accompany the two of them on their self-imposed mission.

*

The wounded had been distributed among a couple of buildings at the edge of the heights where they were camped, waiting for the weather to clear sufficiently to take them to safety. At the moment, the drenched state of the roads would have made it unlikely for any loaded cart to travel very far without getting stuck.

Before the buildings, there was a large space clear of trees – a rarity in this area –, currently being used as an assembly ground. Harry didn't linger long enough for them to take note of anything but the fact that men were gathering there, and Colborne resolved to leave the building much more slowly than he had entered it. He liked to be informed about what went on, even if he was going to be on his way home soon.

Smith was apparently well familiar with who had been placed where already. Without a moment's hesitation, he led them to a small room that was barely large enough for a bed and a box that served as a bedside table. With the three of them standing around that bed, it was quite crowded.

Juana pulled the door shut behind them and proceeded to sit on the edge of Cadoux' bed and reach for his hand.

He let her have his left but kept his thickly bandaged right out of the way.

Colborne studied the wounded man. Daniel Cadoux's face competed with the sheets of his bed for whiteness. Usually bordering on pretty, it was now clearly marked by lines of pain.

Lying flat on his bed, he never even made an attempt to prop himself up to greet his visitors.  

Two Sylphs hung by the open window, watching with concern on their faces. Colborne thought he recognised at least one of them as being among Cadoux' frequent companions. The scene reminded him of his own recent injury, with the difference that he had been afraid of losing his mind, and his room had felt crowded by all kinds of elementals. Two sylphs that were hardly inside the room at all didn't speak for a very great interest among the Elementals.

Of course things may have been different if it had been winter and there had been a fire burning to keep the room warm.

"Good to see you back on your feet, Colonel," Cadoux said, just as if it had been Colborne who was injured. "I'm told you took a nasty knock on the head in that battle."

Colborne smiled ruefully. "Completely and utterly exhausted my magic is more like it," he admitted. "Though better for most people to assume I got hit on the head than to know I was simply sleeping off fatigue."

He moved to stand at the foot end of Cadoux' bed, carefully lifting his feet clear of Juana's skirts. "I've been ordered to develop a terrible headache from it, though. Skerrett wants me gone from his sight at the very first opportunity. He is not happy with my anticipating his orders again."

Cadoux made a noise that did not quite sound like a laugh. "He would have let them butcher us all," he returned coldly. "You saved the day, Colonel. It's not right that you'd be punished for it."

The older officer gave the one-shouldered shrug that was starting to become his trademark. "His reasons may not be right, but it is true that I cannot go on untrained and only half in control of the magic," he admitted. "I'll go back to London and get that training. After that – we shall see." Time to change the subject. "How are you doing, Captain?"

Cadoux made a face. "Alive for now," he said in a low voice.

Colborne gestured. "What happened to your hand?"

"Lost my ring," Cadoux informed him. He didn't need to specify which one – the ring had been Daniel Cadoux' one valuable possession, and he had never taken it off.

Just as Colborne was about to point out that losing a ring did not require bandaging and usually did not involve any bleeding either, Cadoux went on: "Including the finger it was attached to. It appears one of the men took me for dead and thought to keep the ring for himself." The smile on Cadoux' face looked more than a little forced. "Seems he found out what I did quite a while ago – that it wouldn't come off anymore. I have to admit that cutting off the finger with it was not a solution that I had considered before, but it was definitely successful."

He reached for a small, wrapped package on his improvised table where he could just touch it with his wrapped hand. "It has been returned to me in the meantime. The ring, not the finger, of course."

A moment later, he turned his head to face the woman holding his other hand with an apologetic expression. "Juanita, darling, would you do me a favour and find me something to drink? I have a horrible thirst all of a sudden."

She shook her head with a tight little smile as she released his hand. "If you want me gone from the room, you merely need say so," she told the patient. "There is no need to send me out on a pretext."

With a thankful smile, he reached out to squeeze her fingers again briefly.

"Though you needn't do it for my sake," Juana went on. "You're not the first man I visit with Enrique."

His eyes fixed on her face, he nodded. "I know. It's for my comfort, not yours. And I am thirsty."

"I shall go," Juana said as she stood and smoothed down her skirt. "But do not take too long. I shall be back as well."

Pushing past her husband, she slid out of the room and closed the door behind her silently.

Harry took the place she had just vacated. "Well?" he asked. "Out with it."

After another second's hesitation, Cadoux pulled aside the blanket covering him, exposing a bandage wound tightly around his middle. A dark stain marred the white where the wound had bled again. "I need a favour from you, Smith."

"If it's anything I can give, you have it."

Colborne almost winced as he heard Harry's reply. It was rash, he thought. Men in pain were not always the most reasonable. No one knew that better than he did.

Cadoux closed his eyes, if against the pain, the thought of what he was about to ask or the expression he expected to appear on Harry's face because of it Colborne couldn't tell.

"The ball missed everything vital, it appears. Went right through here," he traced the path roughly with his unbandaged hand. "And lodged in my spine. The surgeons dug it out."

He thought that he saw Harry pale a fraction as he heard the words. In contrast to his friend, Colborne was not a surgeon's son, but his time in the army had taught him a thing or two about injuries, and the combination of 'ball' and 'spine' never boded well.

"You know what's going to happen, Harry," Cadoux said. "The fever started earlier today. The pain is getting worse. Another night, and the inflammation will have set in properly. By this time tomorrow, I'll be lucky if I'm still alert enough to speak reasonably. Another few days and I'll be just as dead as if that ball had hit a little higher and killed me out there in the field."

Smith was nodding to that. They had all seen it happen. Even if the ball was dug out, many wounds would fester and could still kill, but not without leaving the wounded man plenty of time to wish he had been dead instantly. Colborne had had those moments, back when the pain from his shoulder had been so very overwhelming – moments of wishing he hadn't asked the surgeon not to amputate his arm as well as moments of wishing the ball had struck a little lower and pierced his heart. He rubbed his scarred shoulder absently at the memory.

"What do you need?" Harry asked quietly, stroking a glossy black lock from Cadoux' face with a gentle hand.

"I need you to clean out the wound for me." Cadoux had closed his eyes as he spoke. "I'm not much of a master, but I might have been able to do it for someone else if I'd been the only one around. But I don't have the control to burn out the inflammation from my own wound without killing myself. You know the kind of pain that comes with it. My hold on the magic would shatter and the fire would consume me. You have to do it."

Another nod from Harry. "I can do that." He looked around the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on Colborne. "Colonel, I need your help. "

It was a relief to hear just what it was that Cadoux wanted. Colborne had half feared he would ask Harry to lend him his pistol or anything along a similar line. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hold him down." Harry held one hand out above the blood stain on Cadoux' bandage, the gesture well known to Colborne by now. Even though Harry kept reminding him that gestures and words were not necessary to work the magic, many of the masters had certain motions they used with their spells if they thought they could get away with it without drawing attention. It may not have been strictly speaking necessary, but it was a way of helping the mind to focus just so. Harry was probably probing the wound magically right now, setting the stage for whatever he was about to do.

However, even though Smith seemed to know quite well what he was about to do, Colborne found himself facing another problem. "I don't think I can," he said, lowering his left hand from where it rested on his stiff shoulder. "My arm is useless for—"

"You don't need to use your physical hands," Harry interrupted him. "Just wrap him in your magic and tie him to the bed nice and tightly. The less he can move, the lower the risk I'll slip and make the damage worse. I'd do the tying if I had to, but this is delicate work and I'd rather not split my attention." While he spoke, he threw a 'look elsewhere' shield onto the open window and tied it off. He wouldn't need any focus to keep that one in place.

It was the wrong moment to argue about being forbidden the use of his magic, Colborne thought. He slowly fed a strand of his magic through one of the holes in Skerrett's shield, careful not to touch it against the fiery orange, just in case it was still somehow connected to its originator and would alert him of anything that suggested that he might be trying to break out.

Thick cords of green wrapped around Cadoux, the magic following Colborne's guidance more easily than ever now. His magic still felt sore from the exertion of the battle, but at the same time it appeared that it had also burned pathways into his mind that helped him handle the power. It had never been so easy to shape the magic and send it where he wanted it to go, or to tell it what he wanted it to do.

For the first time, he thought that he could feel something through the magic. Cadoux' body, hotter than it should have been, where the strands moulded themselves to follow his outlines. Muscles tensing under the coils, then deliberately relaxing. An arm pulling out quickly and falling on top of the magic.

Cadoux' other arm was stretched out towards Smith. "Something that I can bite on, Harry. Please? Anything. I don't need to alert everyone in this house and who knows how far beyond it to what we're doing here."

After a moment's consideration, Harry untied his scarf and folded it up to make sure the cleaner side was on the outside. "It's the only thing I have on me, Dan," he said apologetically.

With a thankful nod, Cadoux took it.

Colborne moved closer to place the injured man's hand on his arm. "It may not be much use for most things anymore," he told him, "but it's still good enough to keep you from ruining your other hand." He held out his left hand for Cadoux' inspection, showing the line of glossy half-circle scars from where his fingernails had gouged into the soft flesh of his palm as he had been fighting to ride out the pain.

The other man's lips twitched into a tired smile. "I'll probably leave it bruised."

Smiling back, Colborne nodded. "That's okay."

Cadoux nodded, took the folded scarf and clamped it firmly between his teeth before closing his hand around Colborne's arm just above the wrist.

 _I'm ready_.

Colborne stared. With his mouth full of scarf, Cadoux couldn't possibly have spoken clearly. And yet, those words had been perfectly clear, sounding almost inside his mind rather than in his ears, similar to the voices of the Elementals when they chose to converse with him. 

He had never experienced that with any of the other mages or masters before. Thoughtfully, he looked down at Cadoux' hand, where four white fingers were resting against the red of his uniform jacket. The man's thumb, however, was touching skin on the other side of his arm, where the sleeve had slipped a little. Could it be--?

He wasn't given an opportunity to pursue that line of thought any further.

Harry had apparently also received the message and set to work. Colborne could see the orange glow pouring through the bandage and into Cadoux' body, just a split second before he felt Cadoux strain against his magical ties. Fingers dug into his arm as Cadoux threw his head back into the pillow, the muscles in his throat visibly straining as he struggled to suffer in silence.

It couldn't have taken long, even though it seemed like an eternity. Colborne thought he could smell singed flesh.

Then the smell was gone, and Cadoux relaxed. He was breathing heavily with his eyes closed as his hand slipped from Colborne's now-aching arm and he waited for the ties of water magic to be removed.

Colborne uncoiled them, taking the magic back into himself on the same route that he had sent it out and just as carefully. He shared a quick glance with Smith. Cadoux' upper body had thrust against the magical restraints until Colborne had reason to fear that bruises would be visible over the man's ribs by nightfall, but the layers wrapped around his legs and all the way to just below the wound had not been disturbed.

Harry carefully folded the blanket back to cover his friend. "You'll be fine," he promised. "Might surprise the surgeons with your resistance to inflammation, but you'll be just fine if they don't stick anything into the wound again."

With a sound situated somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Cadoux started folding and refolding the scarf until Harry took it out of his hands. "Fine?" he asked. "Hardly. But I'll live, and I thank you for that."

As he was searching his mind for a suitable answer to that, Colborne realised that there were sounds rising outside. The question of why the riflemen had assembled out there had just been answered by the tell-tale rhythmic crack of a whip.

Cadoux looked towards the window as well, though the view from his bed didn't offer any more details than what they could hear. It took only a few minutes before sounds of pain accompanied every stroke.

They were quickly turning to screams, and Colborne pulled the window shut, though it did far too little to muffle them.

"What's going on there?" Cadoux wanted to know.

"A flogging," Harry provided helpfully.

The other man snorted. "I can hear it's a flogging."

"The man who mutilated your hand to steal your ring," Juana supplied helpfully as she slipped back into the room, carrying a pitcher of water and a cup. She must have been waiting outside for some sign that it was okay for her to come back in, because it was highly unlikely that she had taken so long to procure those things. "His name is Orr."

All three men looked at the young woman. Juana calmly poured water for Cadoux and held the cup to his lips until he took it from her to drink on his own.

Her husband let his curiosity have free rein. "How many lashes is he getting?"

"One thousand," Juana supplied.

Well, maybe she had taken that long all on her own after all, if she had stopped to chat and get all the details.

Cadoux winced, though whether it was at the reminder of his injury or in sympathy with the man Orr, in spite of what he had done to him, Colborne wasn't sure.

The snapping of the whip was barely audible now as the man's screaming turned from intermittent to near-constant.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Cadoux' tone was full of annoyance as he broke the silence between them a minute later. "That boy Orr is punished enough, from the sound of it, and it'll hardly make my finger grow back if they cripple another man. Harry, go outside and ask them to stop, will you?"

"Seriously?" Smith sounded half-incredulous.

Cadoux threw up his hands. "Yes, seriously. I'd do it, but I can't exactly walk, and I don't think I'd make any great impression on them if I dragged myself outside on the floor, never mind that it'd undo your work – which was an experience I really don't need to repeat. Now get going."

Feeling the younger officer's eyes on him, Colborne shrugged. "You heard the Captain, Smith. Get going."

For another moment, Harry looked like he might object, before he reconsidered and did as he was told.

It didn't take long for the sounds to die down after that.

Cadoux heaved a relieved sigh. "One thing, though, Colonel," he told Colborne. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he slowly flexed his uninjured hand. "If that Orr fellow has the nerve to come in here and thank me for cutting down his lashes, I'll blacken his eye for him."

Suppressing a laugh at the man's tone and expression was hard. "You know what, Daniel?" Colborne asked. "If he does try that, I'll hold him right in place for you."


	13. Chapter 13

Colborne sat outside his tent, hoping that his supposed headache would still permit him to spend some time outdoors now that it had, for a change, stopped raining. Another few days, and they would be able to leave. His things were packed, except for a few necessities that needed to stay at hand until he was actually ready to go. No one would be able to claim that he was trying to delay things.

There was something wrong. He found himself twitching and staring around him every once in a while. Something was off, and it had nothing to do with the undines and naiads.

They had actually been rather restrained today.

He couldn't help but smile as he mentally went over all the things Skerrett had brought upon himself by forbidding him the use of his magic.

First water had started pooling exactly where the general's tent was set up. His servant had been inconsolable, swearing that there was no possible way for that to happen, considering the spot chosen. The tent was moved, and the problem moved with it until eventually, Skerrett moved into a building down in Vera.

That afternoon, water started dripping into his bedroom through a window that suddenly no longer closed tightly.

Skerrett's horse walked off after the post it was tied to loosened in the mud. By unlucky coincidence, the animal appeared to have been tied to the one post that was already rotten at the base.

Water pooling on canvas stretched over areas to keep them dry had suddenly developed a habit of running over the edge whenever the general passed by.

Little items out of Skerrett's possessions were vanishing left and right. If he put something down that was below a certain size, he ran the risk of losing it. Men had been accused and searched, to no avail. The objects turned up again in the most impossible of locations, often where no man could have possibly put them. Some never turned up at all. Once he had put aside his cutlery during a meal and turned aside to talk to a messenger who had come for him and, upon returning to his meal, had to discover that his fork had made off.

His bed developed damp spots even without any obvious leak in the room; water had leaked into his packs from somewhere and his fire had acquired a habit of going out when he wasn't there to tend it. If he left Salamanders to tend it, it would keep on burning, but still fail to dry the things hung by it.

Colborne only shrugged and shook his head when asked about it. He wasn't doing anything, after all.

For once, Skerrett actually came to his aid. As far as he was concerned, Colborne couldn't have done any magic even if he had tried – and certainly not without him knowing.

He wasn't going to alert him to the mistake in that. As his little stunt in Cadoux' sickroom had proven, he could very well use his magic without Skerrett noticing. So far, he had refrained from it, mostly. 

Alexander rode on his shoulder or inside his jacket most of the time that he did not spend in sight of Skerrett and slept in his bed – or at least spent the night stretched out across his shoulder and arm. Colborne wasn't sure if Elementals slept at all. It didn't matter, he assumed. There were plenty of things he didn't know about Elementals, one of them being just how that Salamander knew exactly where the heat from its belly would do his arm most good.

The wrongness interrupted his thoughts again. His elementals were nowhere to be seen, probably all off making Skerrett's life a misery. Colborne had a suspicion that some of the men had actually sent their own elementals to join and help them as well by now.

He looked around.

"Colborne?"

The voice made him jerk.

"Harry!" The Fire Master had snuck up to him from behind. He couldn't be the source of the wrongness, of course – it was too watery for that.

"Whoa, easy!" the younger man slid into a folding chair next to Colborne. "What's wrong? You're all twitchy."

He shrugged in response. "I don't rightly know," he admitted. "There's something off here. Like I can feel magic where there is none."

The younger man frowned at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Colborne made a vague gesture with his hands. "I wish _I_ knew what I meant. I can feel the magic but whenever I look, no matter how, there's nothing."

"When did this start?" Harry wanted to know.

That took a moment of thinking. "A couple of hours ago," he decided.

Harry stared for a moment, following the direction of Colborne's gaze. "Close your eyes," he commanded. "Don't look, just feel for it. What do you feel?"

Obeying, Colborne stretched out his mind towards the spot where the wrongness was the strongest. No, he corrected himself. It wasn't really wrong. It was more that the magic was out of balance there.

"What do you feel?" Harry repeated.

"An ocean," Colborne said the first thing that came to his mind. "I've never felt the ocean with my magic before, of course, but this is what I imagine it would feel like. So much power – so much water…" he opened his eyes, and there was nothing. "What do you feel?"

A shrug. "Nothing."

"Oh." For a moment, he wondered if he dared ask the next question. What if that deep exhaustion had caused some damage to his magic? What if his experimenting with magic without really knowing how to do it had broken something? What if his initial fear hadn't been entirely unfounded and he _had_ become slightly unhinged? 

Well, there was no way around asking. "What does that mean?"

With a lazy air to his movements, Harry got back to his feet and took a few steps towards where Colborne had pointed out the wrongness being. "Still here?" he asked with only mild interest in his voice.

Colborne nodded.

"Well," Harry drawled. "I would say it means that…"

His sword was out lightning-fast, raised in the air at an angle as if he were holding it to a man's throat.

"… we probably have an unannounced visitor in camp. Drop it, Monsieur, or we will see if your shield diverts swords as well as it does eyes."

The air between them rippled, quickly revealing a man in French uniform, wearing a Colonel's badges. A braided necklace with a pendant dangled from his hand.

Colborne hurried to clamp his mouth shut which, he feared, had been stupidly hanging open for a moment.

The Frenchman looked at Harry. "An interesting trick," he observed, speaking French. "How did you know?"

"That you were right there?" Harry replied in the same language. "I just needed to determine where I felt I did _not_ want to step most. That you're French? Logic."

He got a snort in response. The French Colonel turned towards Colborne. "Water Master, I have come because we need to talk. Do you think we could go someplace a little less exposed?" He gestured to include the camp. So far they had not drawn any attention, which would be due to the fact that most people were busy elsewhere at the moment as well as to Harry's 'look elsewhere' shields. "And tell your boy here to take his sword down. I am unarmed."

With a curt motion of his head, Colborne indicated his agreement.

While he lowered his weapon, Harry did not sheathe it again. Freed from the risk of cutting his own throat on the blade, the Frenchman respectfully bowed his head into Colborne's direction.

After hesitating another fraction, Colborne motioned towards his tent. "We can go inside."

Wordlessly, their guest went ahead, ducking through under the tent flap and waiting for Colborne to follow. Harry did not wait for an invitation to join them.

"Please, have a seat," Colborne offered with an open-handed gesture at the table.

The Frenchman slid into one chair and laid the necklace on the table while Colborne settled across from him. Harry remained standing.

"I believe there's a bottle of wine and some glasses over there," Colborne said in the younger officer's direction.

Taking that as a command, Harry moved over to get the requested items. It was clear that he did not like to turn his back to the Frenchman, but he was not going to challenge Colborne's authority by refusing.

"You wanted to talk to me, Water Master?" Colborne asked, hazarding a guess at the man's mastery based on what he had felt like.

The man accepted a glass from Harry with a gracious nod. "My name is Colonel Benoit," the man started. "Water Master with Napoleon's army."

"Colonel Colborne," Colborne returned. "Water Master with the British army." Or something like that, he assumed. He wasn't sure he was supposed to style himself that way, considering he was about to be sent home for training. Nevertheless, that was not something he was going to disclose to the Frenchman – if he hadn't been able to guess his untrained status from his talk with Harry.

"We met in battle some days ago," Benoit observed.

He received a nod in return.

"You bested me." It was a statement, no more or less. There was no accusation in his voice, no embarrassment. They had fought as equals, master against master, and he had lost.

Colborne smiled. "I believe I did." And I paid for it, he added in thought. The man didn't need to know that either.

The French Water Master took a sip from his wine and nodded appreciatively. "This is quite good." He followed that remark up with another sip, then went on: "Well. It appears that I am at a bit of an impasse. You ended our little battle by locking my magic inside me."

Listening, Colborne inclined his head slightly. Harry's raised eyebrows behind his guest did not escape his notice.

"Since the battle is over, would you mind a great deal to give me back use of my magic?" Benoit asked, his voice still as polite as ever. "It appears overly harsh to me to leave me thus imprisoned even after you have beat us."

Surprised and hoping that he was covering it up well, Colborne shifted his vision to see the magic, only to find the man's magical core still wrapped in layers of air and water. The cocoon he had built had changed, though. It appeared that the man and his fellow magicians had thrown quite a lot of magic at it to break it. Instead of obliging, however, it had absorbed what was tossed its way, weaving strands of various magics into Colborne's structure.

There were lines of fire magic, shades ranging from an orange that was almost yellow to the dark red of smouldering coal in the mix, woven through the air. On still closer inspection, he even found a few foul-smelling brown strings of Earth.

Harry made a face behind the Frenchman's back, but Colborne wouldn't have needed the warning.

"What are you going to do if I help you?" he asked.

Benoit smiled generously. "I will take my leave and return to my people without harming anyone in your camp. If we face off in battle again, I will do what I can to return the favour."

"Fair enough." Colborne wouldn't have demanded any more than that. "Do I have your promise that you will return to your men without causing any trouble or danger to mine?"

"You do."

Colborne reached out, stretching through the gaps in Skerrett's shields until he could touch his own magic under the accumulated ones. He firmly grasped one of the joints where he had closed the open ends of the wisps of Air and pulled deftly, unravelling the knot that had built itself up as he did so. At the same time, he mopped up the Water Magic that recognised him as its source, holding it securely inside himself. His head barely ached anymore now.

A nod on the Frenchman's side accompanied the collapse of the shield, as the random additions of magic dissipated. "Thank you, Water Master."

Harry threw a bolt of Fire at the tainted Earth magic about to seep into the floor, burning it out like he had the signs of inflammation in Cadoux' body two days earlier.

"You're welcome, Water Master," Colborne responded, drinking from his own glass. Even the taste of his wine seemed to have grown more intense now that he was holding more magic.

Benoit drained his glass, visibly enjoying the beverage, then started to get to his feet. "I shall be off then," he announced, reaching for his necklace.

A hand slammed down onto the table. "This will stay here," Harry growled, much to Colborne's surprise.

"Smith!" he cautioned.

With a shake of his head, Harry increased his pressure on the object. "This is an artefact," he told Colborne. "It enabled him to sneak into camp unseen and undetected by anyone and everyone. The only reason you felt him was probably that you sensed your own magic on him. He could come back with it any time and we would be none the wiser. These things can be used even by someone without the smallest shred of magic inside them."

Colborne looked at the French Colonel, who hesitated just long enough for it to be noticed and then nodded. "It is true."

"It stays," Harry said.

"I cannot leave it with you," Benoit returned.

The younger man did not budge. "You cannot take it, either. It could be used against us by spies or assassins."

Benoit stopped pulling at it and sat back down. "I cannot let you keep it." He looked right at Colborne as he spoke, once again not acknowledging Harry as a negotiation partner.

The British officer took his time in considering the situation. Harry had a point. "I want your word of honour that the artefact will not be used against us in this war," Colborne finally ventured. "Your promise as an officer will be enough for me."

A moment of silence stretched between them. Eventually, Benoit spoke, weighing his words carefully. "I cannot."

Harry snorted.

Colborne cut him off with a quick gesture. "Elaborate?"

"The artefact," Benoit explained. "Does not belong to me. It was merely lent to me so that I could safely enter your camp and speak with you to solve my problem, since none of our Masters were able to be of any help. Since I was unable to access my magic, I was also unable to shield myself against discovery in any other way. But as you can see, I will have to return it, and I have no power to make any decisions about how, when and by whom is will be used – or for what purpose."

At least he was honest.

"Then you will understand that we have a bit of a dilemma here," Colborne pointed out. "Captain Smith is right. It would be most imprudent to let you return with such a weapon, especially now that you have had proof that it works."

Truth to be told, he didn't expect Benoit to have needed any proof of it to begin with. Who knew how often they had already used it? Colborne wondered if he would ever view locations that he felt disinclined to enter quite the same way ever again.

"Artefacts like this are rare," Benoit explained. "They are difficult to make and to charge. It takes a long time and a lot of power. It is not the kind of thing that you lose or leave in someone else's hands."

"Shouldn't have let it out of your hands to begin with then," Harry suggested. He still had his hand on the artefact.

"What he said is true?" Colborne asked his friend. "About their being difficult to make and charge?"

At the same time, the Frenchman answered Harry's statement, explaining: "I feared it would overlay the shields and make it impossible even for him to get through if I kept it on my body."

"Aye," Harry said in Colborne's direction, ignoring Benoit.

Colborne looked at the necklace, studying its magical appearance and committing as much of it as he could to memory. He could not make much sense of it now, but that did not mean that he would not be able to at some later time.

"Your people _would_ be able to make a new one if we kept this?"

Now Benoit shook his head. "Not at this time. In times of peace, yes. At the moment, it would be insanity to deplete Masters like that. Even merely charging one to full power would weaken several Masters to the point of being useless in battle." The Frenchman's magic flowed around Harry's hand to examine what Colborne's was doing with the artefact.

"Then the solution seems obvious." Colborne looked from the necklace to Benoit, and the moment their eyes met, he knew the French colonel knew what he was thinking – just as he knew that the other man agreed. He felt the information resonating in their magics where they overlapped. And touched, flowing into each other like the water of two different rivers would.

The Frenchman tilted his head to look at Harry. "Captain, hand the artefact to your colonel." He withdrew his hand.

His eyebrows raised, Harry picked up the necklace and held it out to Colborne, who took it.

Turning it over and over in his hands, he observed it carefully. He found it quite akin to reading a map. Once he managed to get his bearings on it, it wasn't very difficult to see how the various flows of magic, similar and yet distinctly different from each other, ran. The most fascinating thing about it all was that they were not recognisably of any one element.

It didn't take very long before he had found a point where he could insert a magical tendril under the flow and lever it out of its invisible bed.

He thought that he might have been able to take up the magic and merge it into his own, neutral as it was, but he was quite certain that that would not be in compliance with the mute agreement he had reached with Benoit.

So he set it free, letting it dissipate into the air and the ground, the fire and what water there was in the tent. Elementals appeared left and right, eating up the unexpected feast. Even some of his Undines gave up the fun of tormenting Skerrett for a while to dine. Other ones, strange ones that he had never seen before, their bodies a little more along a dancer's line, their hair a little less modest in length, considering that it was all they wore, their breasts a little fuller and their hairstyle a lot more elaborately French than those of his own, crowded in to join them.

Colborne noticed that both the wine glasses and the bottle suddenly acquired inhabitants. He wasn't sure he wanted to drink wine that had been swum in, even by an Elemental.

Alexander, previously safely hidden under the lapels of Colborne's jacket in the presence of a strange Master of his antagonist element, ventured forward cautiously, sniffing the magic-loaded air with a twitch of his round snout and tasting a thin wisp of the magic with a flick of his tongue. 

Apparently liking what he tasted there, he started to absorb the magic into his body. Colborne shook his head with a smile. He wondered if he would ever get used to the way Elementals 'ate' with their entire bodies instead of letting the magic they gobbled up pass through where they were displaying their mouths. 

Only when the artefact had stopped glowing to his magical sight did he let his attention stray from it. He held it up for Harry's inspection. "Think it's safe to return now?" he asked.

Harry nodded mutely.

Colborne's smile widened a fraction as he handed it back to Benoit. The French would be able to recharge it, of course, but as he had pointed out, by doing so they would be depleting their magical resources for battle. It seemed a fair enough trade.

"What's wrong?" Colborne asked when he noticed Benoit's expression, which hung somewhere between amused incredulity and terrified shock. Following the man's eyes to the front of his own jacket, he saw nothing amiss there.

That was, unless you wanted to count a Salamander clinging to a Water Master's lapels as being something amiss.

Apparently, the Frenchman did. "There is…" Benoit quickly cleared his throat. "There is a Salamander sitting on your jacket," he pointed out.

"Oh, yes," Colborne confirmed. He held up his left hand for the small Elemental to climb onto. After some hesitation, the Salamander complied. "This is Alexander. He's my friend."

Alexander gave an emphatic nod at that statement, which Benoit acknowledged with an equally emphatic headshake.

"It's Fire! Doesn't it burn you? It should—"

"No," Colborne said, giving the Salamander's chin an affectionate scratch with one finger. "He's warm, but he doesn't burn."

Benoit was still staring as Alexander snuggled into Colborne's hand and apparently went to sleep there. Colborne wasn't sure he wanted to know what kinds of things he would be telling his people about the strange ways of British Water Masters once he returned.

Harry helpfully stepped in to distract him. "Would you like some more wine?"

"Thank you, but no," the French Colonel declined, rising again. "It is past time for me to return to my own camp. Colonel, Captain – Masters, I shall take my leave now if you have no further objections."

Before Harry could say anything else, Colborne nodded and got up as well. "Have a safe journey," he wished the other man as they stepped towards the tent's entrance.

The Frenchman inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I thank you again for your assistance," he said and turned, calling up his shields.

It was Colborne's turn to stare, as they did not go up in the near-instant style that Harry, Juana and all the other masters sported when they shielded themselves, but slowly grew one after the other, a simple defensive shield at first, superimposed with one that Colborne couldn't identify, one that gave him the outward appearance of someone who had no magic at all, and an outer one that caused the air around him to ripple and flow in strange ways until it swallowed him up and left them seemingly standing alone in the tent.

Colborne squinted. He knew the man was there after all.

With some effort, he could make his outlines return to his vision. So this shield wasn't as perfect as the necklace had been. If he focused, he could also feel the fact that it was present. Benoit would probably get out of the camp just fine under it, since no one would be looking for someone sneaking out, but he would probably not be missed by a Master keeping watch looking for anyone coming the other way.

He lifted the tent flap, letting the near-invisible French Water Master step through.

Now for those shields. It had been the first time he had seen a Water Master build his shields, and he thought he had spotted the places where he had gone wrong before, the reasons why Wellington had considered his own shields still 'cobbled-together'.

He tried to recreate what he had just seen, wondering if Benoit had deliberately gone slowly about building his shields for his benefit. The second layer was the hardest, since he had no idea what it did. The third came more easily again as he imagined what it was supposed to do.

The fourth slipped into place just as Harry turned back towards him from putting away the wine.

"Colborne?" he asked, a slightly confused tone to his voice.

Walking to the entrance of the tent, he stuck his head outside to see where Colborne had gone.

He chuckled, causing Harry to spin around. Colborne reached out and tapped the younger man's arm. "I'm right here." The outer layer of his shield dropped, and Harry shook his head at his colonel.

"You're a fast learner," Harry observed.

Colborne shrugged. "I have a teacher who gave me a good grounding to build on," he claimed.

 


	14. Chapter 14

"There you go, Dan." Harry lifted his friend onto the cart and settled him carefully in the blankets they had arranged there for him. "Are you quite comfortable?"

Cadoux gave him a small smile. "As comfortable as I will get. Thank you."

Both of them knew that it would not be long before he would be acutely uncomfortable: Once the cart started bouncing on the way back to Portugal, no amount of padding in the back of the cart would be able to keep him anywhere remotely free of pain.

A salamander flitted up the length of Cadoux‘ body and settled on the blanket over his chest. Harry reached out to stroke its back with one finger. "You take good care of your master for us, little one," he told it.

The wounded man laughed that strange non-laugh he had acquired since his injury. "I think Colborne is rubbing off on you, Harry," he declared. "You didn't talk to elementals like that before."

Harry was about to reply, but a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Do I hear my name?" Colborne was walking up to them, leading his horse by the rein. "Do you have room on that cart for me, Captain?" he asked.

Cadoux gestured at the unoccupied part of the cart. "Be my guest, Colonel. Don't expect me to be very good company on the trip, though. I fear I'll be busy trying not to scream."

"Thank you." Colborne tied his horse to the back of the cart and threw a small pack up into its back before climbing up himself. "Can't expect a man with a crippling headache to ride, after all. Don't you worry about the rest, Captain. I know all about the not-screaming part." He patted his stiff shoulder, startling Alexander into racing for the safety of his collar.

A moment later, the salamander emerged again, looking a little sheepish at his own blunder.

"Well, another moment and we'll be off." The Colonel settled in a corner of the cart. He knew that riding would have been a more pleasant experience, but word of his continued trouble from the supposed knock on his head had spread, causing quite some concern among the men. Riding when he was supposedly barely able to leave his tent at times – an order given by Skerrett in private and translating roughly into 'as long as water keeps tormenting me, you may consider yourself under house arrest' – might have raised some questions.

Besides, Cadoux looked quite like he could use the company.

The cart jerked into motion, and Colborne winced in sympathy as Cadoux bit his lip to keep from yelping. He had forgotten just how hard a ride in these contraptions was. He feared that if he couldn't get away with switching to his horse the next morning at the latest, he would develop a very real headache caused solely by his means of transport. Cushioning his head on his crossed arms, he tried to ride out the bouncing as well as he could and ignore the noise.

They hadn't gone too far, when the cart came to a sudden, jarring halt that tore a low whimper from Cadoux.

Colborne's head jerked up. There was Field Marshal Wellington, a dashing figure looking down at them from his horse.

"Colonel, get out of that cart."

Unsure of what to expect, Colborne obeyed with some trepidation. What was going on now? He had expected to hear from Wellington after his repeated 'anticipation' of Skerrett's command, but as the days had passed uneventfully, he had begun to think that Wellington had more important things on his mind.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

"Sorry, Captain," Colborne said in Cadoux' direction. "I'll catch up again." He slid out of the cart and untied his horse, mounting as smoothly as the aches caused by excessive bouncing permitted.

"We'll see about that," Wellington commented darkly. He shook his head in Colborne's direction. "If you hadn’t decided to take a nap in that cart, Colonel, I wouldn't have had to stop the train to get you." With a brisk gesture, he gave the order for the cart to move on again.

"Sir, I have orders to suffer from a head wound, " Colborne returned evenly. "Being well enough to ride would have been showing disregard for my commanding officer."

Being in the saddle had rarely felt this good. Still, it was the only thing that felt good about his current situation. For a change, he wished he could just hide in someone's jacket like Alexander was doing in his. That last comment from Wellington had not served to put him at his ease.

They rode back to Vera in silence.

"Your recent … magical exploits have come to my attention," Wellington began when they were facing each other across a desk.

Colborne thought fast. Did he mean the battle? He had to mean the battle. The affair with the French Water Master's visit couldn't have gotten around… could it?

Before he could continue, Wellington went on: "What were you thinking, setting your undines at General Skerrett?"

"I did no such thing!" Colborne blurted out.

"As a matter of fact, I pulled an undine from Skerrett's packs not even an hour ago, and it claimed to be one of yours."

"General Skerrett forbade me use of my magic, Sir," Colborne explained. "He sealed it away from me even. I had no choice but to let the undines do as they pleased, and, as I am sure you know, they are quite the little pranksters."

Wellington made a rude noise. "That so-called 'seal' of yours has breaches large enough for an army to march through."

"I had noticed that, Sir," Colborne replied. "But it didn’t seem my place to point it out to General Skerrett and, well… he had made his intentions clear enough. It wouldn’t have been wise to challenge him again."

"But it was wise to disregard his orders once again and lead your men into battle?"

Colborne winced, but he kept his head high and his eyes fixed on Wellington. "The lives of many men were at stake there, Sir," he said. "The bridge would have been lost. I did what I had to do."

 _What did you do now, boy?_ A harsh voice cut through his mind – not only his, it appeared, since as he turned involuntarily to look for its source, Wellington turned along with him.

The djinni hovered in the air by the half-open window, arms planted on round hips and looking very displeased about something. If Colborne had had to venture a guess, he would have assumed that that "something" was himself.

"Colonel, what is that?" Wellington wanted to know, his voice barely restrained.

Colborne gulped. "That, Sir, is a djinni," he supplied. _As you well know, Sir_ , he added in thought.

 _Don't talk back to your betters, boy_ , the djinni thundered.

"Stop screaming at me!" Wellington snapped. "Whatever he thought."

The djinni clamped its mouth shut but made a rude gesture towards Wellington, who turned to Colborne, his face now a distinct shade darker than it had be just a moment ago. "One of yours?" he ground out.

"No, Sir," Colborne said, his complexion slowly darkening to match that of his commander, but for an entirely different reason. "My father's."

"Your father is dead."

The blonde head nodded. "Try explaining that to him."

For a moment, Wellington looked at the elemental as if considering it, then he jerked his attention back to Colborne. "If your father was a Master of Air, why was your magic never dealt with before?"

"Mister Colborne, Sir," Colborne hastened to explain. "It was Mister Colborne who was the Master, not Mister Bargus."

"Hmph." Wellington filed away that new piece of information. "Do you have any control over it?"

Wish that he had! He certainly would not have let him get into the office with them then! The worst that could happen from bringing Alexander into the presence of Wellington was having an agitated Salamander cavort around your drawers once he decided the jacket was no longer a secure enough hiding spot. While a disconcerting experience initially, it was something he could live with. A very loud, outspoken djinni who preferred to ignore about thirty years of your age was an entirely different matter.

 _Trust me, boy, you would not like having a djinni 'cavorting around in your drawers'_ , the djinni shot at him.

Wellington coughed emphatically. "Guard your thoughts, Colonel!" he demanded as soon as he got enough air again.

Now wasn't that a good idea? Colborne would have loved to obey that command. If only he knew how…

Of course the djinni offered no helpful reply to that.

"Yes, Sir," Colborne said anyway. "And no, I do not. He apparently answers to my father only. My late father, Sir." Which pretty much summed up the problem.

"It," Wellington said. "Let us forget about the djinni for the moment."

That was easier said than done. He fixed his eyes on Wellington and forced himself to keep them there.

"It has come to my attention that you fought a Master's battle at the bridge." The Field Marshal started walking across the room. Colborne turned to keep him in sight.

"I assume I did," he offered. "I was fighting a Master in any case."

"Who won?" Wellington brought out a small bowl and filled it with water from a pitcher.

What was he planning there? "I did," Colborne answered truthfully.

The older man took his time answering as he put the bowl on the table. "Show me how you summon an undine."

Colborne stared for a moment.

 _You heard the man_ , the djinni said. Was that supposed to be an encouraging tone? _Go ahead. You can do it, Johnny_.

He shot a glare at the Air elemental.

"I said: Ignore the djinni," Wellington scolded.

"Sir?" he asked. "I am not permitted to use magic."

"I believe that I still outrank Skerrett," Wellington snarled. "And I just told you to summon."

With a glance at the open window, Colborne felt around until he touched a familiar undine nearby. It seemed that some of them had come to watch. "Eleanor!" he called out to her. "Come on in."

Obediently, the Elemental slithered forward, dropping over the edge of the windowsill and moving across the floor until she sat by Colborne's feet. At the moment, was came about as high as his knee.

"Eleanor," Colborne told her gravely. "This is Field Marshal Wellington. Say hello."

Without betraying what she thought of being asked to say hello to a Fire Master, frozen or no, Eleanor bobbed a courtesy, or what passed for it when a girl had a fish tail instead of legs.

Wellington stared.

 _Don't tell me you don't know what 'summon' means_ , the djinni huffed.

Obeying Wellington's command, Colborne ignored him. He turned to his commander, who did not seem quite as impressed as he could have. "You don't like her?" he wanted to know. "How about Isabel instead, then?" A brief invitation extended through the window, and another undine, similar to but at the same time distinctly different from the first, slid inside to stand beside her sister.

"Colborne, I told you to summon an undine," Wellington began, apparently at a loss for words.

"And so I did," Colborne answered. "Not any undine, but a specific one. Two specific ones."

The other man's throat worked for a moment before he spoke again, dangerously quietly. "Summon an undine out of that bowl. Not through the window."

Cleansing the water in the bowl took hardly a thought. Summoning wasn't much more difficult than that. After he had left them mostly to their own devices for as much as a week, they were all too happy to have his attention again.

By the time Wellington turned his gaze from Colborne and looked back at the bowl, a tiny undine was turning circles in it. She dived, bringing down her tail hard onto the surface of the water and causing a spray of drops that fell on the Field Marshal.

"Sally!" Colborne chided.

Re-emerging, the undine made an apologetic face at Wellington. _My apologies, Ice Master_ , she offered.

If Wellington was surprised to be addressed by a Water elemental, he covered it well. He did not bother to respond though. Instead, he rounded on Colborne. "You _named_ them?"

"Yes." Why deny it? It was obvious anyway. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

"They are elementals."

"They like having names." Colborne felt, more than saw, the undines by his feet nod emphatically.

Wellington did not seem convinced. "Did you name Skerrett's Salamander as well?"

"Yes, Sir. His name is Alexander." He felt the Salamander's trembling increase at the mention of his name in Wellington's presence.

The Field Marshal considered the information for a moment. "Can you produce him like you did those undines?"

Considering that Alexander was shaking so much that he was starting to be in danger of falling out of Colborne's clothes… "No, Sir, I don't think so. He's mortally terrified of you, you see. As a Water Master I cannot command him, and even if I could I don't know that it would be right to do so if he's so afraid."

"I'd love to know where it's hiding again," Wellington muttered.

 _I could tell you…_ The djinni offered helpfully.

"I didn't ask you!" Wellington snapped at it.

Colborne barely bit back a reminder to Wellington that they were ignoring the djinni.

He wouldn’t have had an opportunity to say anything anyway, since Wellington was now pointing at the airy shape still hovering by the window. "What do you call that, then?"

Good question. Up to now he had not called him anything but his father's djinni. He certainly wasn't going to call him his nanny or governess, although obviously he had once been intended in that capacity. He came to a quick decision. "Uncle."

"Hm." Wellington didn't comment on that any further. "Shield yourself."

Colborne raised his shields, all four layers of them. He had spent long hours during his non-house-arrest putting up and taking down those shields, together, individually, in pairs and threes. Now all four of them went up at once, building smoothly and perfectly.

He didn't need to feel for them to know that it had worked. Wellington's facial expression was quite enough to tell him that. "Colborne!"

With a smile, he dropped the outermost layer. "Yes, Sir?"

"Where did you learn that trick?" Wellington sounded as if he was of half a mind to ask Colborne for a slower demonstration so he could pick it up.

"Copied it from the French," Colborne replied evenly.

Wellington bristled. "When did you get close enough to the French Masters to copy their shields?"

"A few days after the battle. The French Water Master dropped by for a glass of wine and to pay his respects," Colborne explained almost truthfully. He wouldn't mention Benoit's predicament or the artefact if he could help it… Which he now probably no longer could, because his _Uncle_ was surely going to disclose the information to Wellington in a moment.

Nothing happened. Now wasn't that interesting?

On Wellington's side, the conversation continued uninterrupted. "So naturally, you asked him for a lesson." His voice was cold and dry.

"Well, Sir, if you prefer then next time I can close my eyes when one of them does magic, such as building his shields before he leaves my tent." He started to wish that Wellington would get to the point. He surely hadn't dragged him away from the cart to discuss the progress of his magical education.

To his surprise, the djinni was still silent.

 _I'm surprised you have nothing to say to that_ , Colborne thought at it with a tinge of exasperation.

 _What am I supposed to say anything to?_ The djinni replied. _You've gone all silent, boy. Maybe you're growing up._

He'd gone silent? What did that mean? Was the djinni unable to follow his thoughts now, unless he directed them at him? That was what it seemed like in any case. Was it possible that that was what that second shield did?

If so, he had better hold on to it.

"It is generally considered rude to exclude one person present from the conversation," Wellington announced.

"I apologize, Sir," Colborne hurried to reply. "It was not my intention."

And now what? More tests? Had he even passed the first ones?

"Now," Wellington started, moving towards Colborne. "You seem to expect that I'll just let you return to England. General Skerrett was quite verbal about what he thought appropriate, considering you went against his orders – again. He had a thing or two to say about Captain Smith as well, but his misgivings mainly centre on you, Colonel."

Something in the Field Marshal's voice or bearing seemed to alert the djinni, and he rushed forward, imposing himself between the two men.

 _You will not touch the boy_ , he snarled at Wellington. _I can promise you that you will hear from his father about it if you as much as try to lay a hand on him._

Oh, boy. The djinni thought Wellington was going to give him a spanking. Colborne covered his face with one palm at the realisation, only to notice that Wellington was mirroring his gesture.

The djinni turned to scowl at him. _I am helping you here, boy_ , he complained. _Show some gratitude!_

Colborne couldn't help a laugh.

 _What's so funny, boy?_ The elemental demanded.

"Nothing," Colborne answered, trying hard to keep a straight face. "Just the innumerable spankings, birchings and paddlings I received while you were looking elsewhere. Can't say anyone seems to have cared about those a great deal."

 _That cannot be true_ , the djinni huffed. _Do not lie to me, Johnny. I only turned my back on you for a moment, as you very well know!_

"You have a funny definition of 'moment'," Colborne pointed out before he could stop himself.

Wellington's mouth twitched. "Colborne, do not try to argue the concept of time with an Air Elemental," he advised.

"Sir," Colborne said, talking literally through the djinni, "I am not arguing with him. I am merely informing him of my opinion."

"It."

What? "Excuse me?"

A sigh preceded the answer. "You were informing _it_ of your opinion."

Why did people insist on calling elementals 'it' when they were so clearly gendered? "I cannot very well call him 'Uncle' if I refer to him as an 'it'," he explained. He stepped around the Elemental so he could face Wellington without seeing him in washed-out outlines only. "I assume Skerrett wants me cashiered."

"I am sure that he would like that," Wellington confirmed. "However, Major-General Skerrett has resigned his command as of today. His health, you see. All this sleeping in damp beds is not easy on a man. Coupled with all the dark looks he has been getting from his men and the general reluctant attitude towards him, his nerves are not much better than his body, and so he has requested to be relieved of his command and be permitted to return to England to recover. I wonder if he will, considering that only today he has received a missive regarding a sizable inheritance that has fallen upon him. The poor man, to be afflicted thrice in such a manner."

Was Wellington trying to tell him that Skerrett was going home on a medical pretence to enjoy his sudden wealth?

"What about me then, Sir?"

Wellington looked from the djinni to the undines still crouched by Colborne's feet, the one waiting in the bowl and the place where Alexander was cautiously poking his snout out of Colborne's pocket, retreating again in haste when he realised that he had been spotted. "Your sick leave is cancelled," he stated. "So is your headache. Return to your post, Colonel."

That was unexpected. It also brought with it an entirely different kind of complication. He couldn't believe that Wellington had not thought of it himself. "Yes, Sir. Sir, if you'll allow me the question – who will you send to replace Skerrett?"

"I have not yet made up my mind," Wellington declared as he returned to the desk. “We are unfortunately suffering a shortage of suitable general officers at the moment, so it may be some time before I do.”

"But Sir!" Colborne had to walk around the djinni again, who seemed intent on keeping him from Wellington. "That would make me the highest-ranking officer in the brigade."

Picking up a piece of paper and quickly scanning the lines, Wellington answered: "Then I believe that ought to tell you where your post is. But maybe you would like me to draw you a map?"

"That will not be necessary, Sir." Colborne kept his face carefully neutral as he went to the door, dismissing the undines he had summoned earlier on the way. They blinked out of sight.

His hand on the doorknob, he turned again. "Sir?"

"What?" Wellington sounded distant now, as if his thoughts were already elsewhere.

"What am I supposed to do with that seal Skerrett put on my magic?"

The way the older man looked at him suggested that it was a stupid question to ask. "Dispose of it. I don't care how."


	15. Chapter 15

Colborne entered the building, his small pack over his shoulder, and looked around.

By all appearances, the place was comfortable enough. There was a woman busily cleaning up the mess that Skerrett had apparently left behind in his hasty departure.

At least the man seemed to have cleansed the direct proximity. He hadn't even seen any of the mean little Earth elementals that seemed to be everywhere, and the little garden veritably shone with clean magic.

"¡Hola!" he announced his presence. "I'm the new brigadier. I'll be moving in."

Her face tilted up to look at him, her expression betraying concern. "I'm sorry, Sir," she muttered as if expecting a harsh reaction from him. "But there is something wrong with the bedroom. The window – it never leaked before, but now we cannot stop it. The bed keeps drawing water in the most unusual ways—the last brigadier was most unhappy."

Of course he would have been. Colborne gave a slight nod to indicate that he understood. "I am certain that it will be quite fine," he promised. "In fact, I have a hunch that all the leakage will have stopped already."

"It will start again when the rain picks up," she pointed out.

"We will see," Colborne replied. "Which way is my room?"

She pointed, and he went in the direction indicated to him.

The room wasn't big – nothing in the house was big, really, as was the case with most of the buildings here. Still, he'd slept in worse.

He put down what little he had with him and walked the short distance to the window to open it wide and air out the room.

The hearth was cold, so he knelt and struck a fire. He saw the salamanders crowd in and watch him wearily.

"Whoa, will you stop that?" he asked when the first one started stifling the flames. "I'm not Skerrett. You can stop it now."

 _You do not command us, Water Master_ , one of them hissed in a whisper.

Alexander climbed up onto his shoulder and hissed back at his brethren, who happily ignored him. The little Elemental rubbed his muzzle against Colborne's cheek, as if trying to apologise for their rudeness.

Not good. He had no intention to stay in a room in which the fire kept going out. On the other hand, they were talking to him, which was more than most would be able to say about Elementals of their antagonist Element. Maybe he could work with that.

Skerrett's seal came to mind.

 _Dispose of it_ , Wellington had said.

"How about a little trade?" Colborne asked the Salamanders in the fire. They kept going about their business of keeping the flames low, but he thought he saw some heads jerk towards him for a fraction of a second. They weren't entirely uninterested in what he had to say. "I have a bit of Fire Magic here. Would you like to eat that? Because you can, you know. I won't stop you. All I ask in return is that the fire remains burning in the hearth – and only the hearth," he added quickly.

As he finished, he dropped his shields – all three layers of them.

The Salamanders swarmed him, and it was all he could do not to shy away and whip his shields back up. It was hard not to react instinctively when you found yourself suddenly engulfed in a surge of what looked uncomfortably like flames.

They were hot. Alexander radiated heat, but in a comfortable way, keeping it just low enough to be pleasant. These Salamanders, greedy as they were, were just short of scorching. Before they were finished, he was quite sure that his shirt and breeches had acquired a few singed spots. Those would be interesting to explain to his servant later, when he needed them patched.

It was over as quickly as it had started. The last of Skerrett's magic consumed, they rushed back into the hearth and, presumably, up the chimney, leaving behind a nicely crackling fire.

With a sigh of relief, Colborne raised his shields again, even easier now that he no longer had to work through Skerrett's seal. It made him wonder. Could the General have inadvertently done him a favour by forcing him to focus on keeping his magic flowing through those gaps he had left? His control of the green energies felt much improved, in any case.

Turning his attention to the bed, he carefully probed the straw mattress with a hand. Damp. Too damp to sleep on comfortably.

On a sudden whim, he beckoned, smiling as the water followed in his direction, trickling out of the mattress and pooling on the floor. It couldn't stay there either, though, so he looked around until he found a vessel to collect it in, kicked over under the bed.

He collected more water that had seeped into places it was not supposed to go, then went to pour it out the window. Satisfied, he turned around just in time to see a small shape race away from the open door – a door that he had closed behind him when he had first entered.

Putting away his vessel, he followed. He had barely cleared the doorway when he heard a child's excited voice exclaiming in rapid Spanish: "Mama, Mama! The Water Master has a Salamander on his shoulder!"

"Nonsense," the woman in the front room answered. "Water Masters do not associate with Salamanders. What Water Master are you talking about anyway?"

"The one in the mean old man's room," the boy explained.

Colborne did not try very hard to hide a grin as he joined the two. "That would be me. Thank you, Senora. The room is most comfortable." He held out one hand as he flashed his shields, showing his magic. "Lieutenant-Colonel John Colborne. Water Master."

The woman dipped a shallow courtesy before she took his hand in a brief, firm grip, and exposed her own shields in a similar manner. Hers were different from everything he had ever seen before in his short time as an Elemental Master. A beautiful golden brown, hinting at the comfort of a home's hearth, the soothing hand of a mother – or a healer –, the cosy warmth of a coat that fit just right.

"María Álvarez, Earth Master," she introduced herself.

Earth Master. That explained more than it didn't – including the impeccable condition of the earth outside the house and the unusual shield. He had never met anyone affiliated with Earth before – at least not to his knowledge.

"He does have a Salamander on his shoulder," the boy repeated sullenly.

When Alexander looked around to take a look at the child, it looked so much as if he were trying to find the Salamander the boy had spoken of that Colborne had to laugh.

"Manners!" María Álvarez scolded.

Lowering his head, the boy sketched a graceless bow. "Pablo Sánchez Álvarez, Apprentice Water Mage."

"Nice to meet you, Pablo," Colborne answered, offering his hand for the boy to shake as well.

"It wasn't my boy's fault," the woman hurried to say. "The water in the room, I mean. He doesn't have the power to get the undines to do any such things."

Colborne gave her a skewed smile. "It doesn’t take much power to convince an undine to play pranks," he observed. "But I agree that keeping it up over an extended period like, say, all of the last week, would take some power. Don't worry. I know they weren't his undines."

"You know?" The boy's voice was suddenly timid, as well as surprised. Colborne wondered if Skerrett, or possibly even his parents, had tried to hold him accountable for the watery mess in the brigadier's room.

"Yes," he confirmed. "They were mine."

Both woman and boy stared at him, and he hurried to add: "The room is dry again now, and it will stay that way." Or so he dearly hoped.

"You have a Salamander on your shoulder!" The boy reminded him before his mother could say anything more.

"Pablo!"

Colborne crouched down to bring the offending elemental to roughly the same height as the boy's face. "I believe I do. Do you want to say hello to him? His name is Alexander."

The boy cautiously raised a hand, holding it out as if to a small dog. Alexander sniffed it and sneezed.

Very slowly, Pablo tried scratching the Salamander's head with one finger. "He's warm!" he observed, then added: "Why does he have a name? None of our elementals have names! And why do you have a Salamander on your shoulder if you're a Water Master?"

"Because he's my friend," Colborne explained as he ran his hand along the elemental's back as well. "And friends should have names to address them by." Or uncles, he added silently, hoping that the djinni was still busy berating Wellington about the treatment he had subjected his 'boy' to. The last thing he needed now was for him to show up and give these good people a display of his attitude.

"But water can't be friends with fire!" the boy claimed.

Colborne shook his head gravely. "And who told you that?" he wanted to know. "Almost all of my best friends are Fire Masters and Magicians. Why should I spurn someone's friendship merely because their nature is not exactly like mine? The strongest shields we build have both Fire and Water in them. There is so much more to be gained from working together than from ignoring each other."

Pablo considered that for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "How did you make friends with a Salamander, though?"

"That," Colborne said as he straightened again carefully. "Is a story that I will tell you – but another time. For now, I have things that I need to take care of."

With a nod to both of them, he stepped back outside to get his horse.

*

"So Skerrett is gone?" Harry asked, disbelievingly. "He didn't say a word!"

"He didn't say a word to me either before he rode off," Ugly Tom Fane, the Aide de Camp, replied. The two men were sitting on a low wall at the edge of the camp, where Tom had found Harry upon riding up from Vera. "But gone he is! Had his things loaded up and went to see Wellington, and the next thing I knew he was on his way. Resigned his post for reasons of health, he said."

Harry snorted. "Reasons of a guilty conscience, is more like it."

"Reasons of sulking because no one will be friendly with him anymore, I'd say," Ugly Tom returned. "That man has no conscience to be guilty."

That brought a nod from Smith. "Have you heard who's to replace him? Is Wellington going to send us someone? Else – " He scratched his head, trying to figure out who was highest in rank with both Skerrett and Colborne gone for who knew how long.

"Not a word. And it's hardly of any consequence to me." Tom looked a little sad about that. "You don't think anyone'd keep me on as Aide de Camp, do you? Just think who brought me in to begin with." That would have been Skerrett. But none of his unpopularity had rubbed off on Tom.

"You're well enough liked by the men," Harry pointed out. "The new brigadier would be a fool to choose someone else, especially if he's someone brought in from outside. He'll need a man who knows how we work."

"He might also simply replace both of us." Tom's face grew wistful. "I wish Colborne were still here."

Smith nodded his agreement. "We'd be in good hands with him," he said. "But I don't think he's going to be back anytime soon."

Suddenly, the other man's face lit up as he looked past Harry. "Sooner than you think, I believe. Look there!"

Turning quickly, Harry almost slipped off of the wall and had to scramble to regain a firm seat. When he had the leisure to look, he saw a red-jacketed figure on a plain brown horse taking the rise up to Santa Barbara at a moderate gallop. Blonde locks were tousled by the wind. An orange spot, visible only to Harry's magic but not his eye at this distance, clung to the rider's shoulder. That was Colborne alright.

"Colonel!" Harry greeted him with a wave as soon as the man came into shouting range. "Did you forget something vital?"

"Did you meet Skerrett on the way?" Ugly Tom asked. "He supposedly left to better his health back home."

Colborne brought his horse to a stop next to the two men. Waiting on the outer side of the wall, where the ground sloped down, he sat roughly at the same height they did. "As a matter of fact I didn't. I haven't seen Skerrett since last night, when he made sure I remembered my orders to leave with the 'other' wounded. I just—"

"Maybe you better hurry back then," Harry suggested with some concern in his voice. "What if he decides to travel with the train and arrives there to find you gone? You don’t know what kind of trouble he can still make for you." He could just about imagine what would happen if Skerrett felt that Colborne had invented his own orders a third time. He was still hoping that the Colonel's stint in London would be a short one and that he would return to them afterwards – in spite of the man's previous mentions of India.

"Are you so eager to be rid of me?" Colborne asked with a laugh. "Because I'm—"

"Well, no," Harry hurried to assure the older man, speaking right over him. "Of course not. As a matter of fact, we were just talking about how we hated to lose you and what a shame it was for Skerrett to send you home in the first place – and now he's not even staying himself!"

Colborne chuckled. "Not even staying to gloat, you mean?"

"No one would have let him gloat, Colonel!" Smith hurried to assure him. "You know how upset everyone is about you having to leave."

"Well, that's good to know – because I—"

This time it was Tom who cut him off. "Your head seems much improved, Sir! At least you looked as if you were riding quite easily, and all that bouncing can't be good for it."

"It certainly beats bouncing in a cart," Colborne muttered. More loudly, he added: "My head is doing quite fine, thank you. Now, if you don't mind… Smith, what is it?"

Harry was frowning at him. More precisely, Harry was frowning at Colborne's horse. "Colonel, your horse…"

Now it was Colborne's turn to frown. "What about him?" he wanted to know, looking down at his mount with some concern. Had he missed something or caused him an injury galloping up the hill?

The younger officer made a face. "Not wrong, Colonel. It's just that he… he looks… awfully … _fresh_ for having run all the way back from wherever."

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, Tom Fane cut in as well: "Harry's right, Colonel. Why, looking at him you'd think you didn’t come up from any farther away than Vera."

"That's because I have just come up from Vera," he elaborated. "I was talking to the Field Marshal, and he—"

Smith perked up. "He sent you up with a message before you have to return to the train?" he couldn't have done anything worse. Colborne looked too much at ease for that. As a matter of fact, he looked more relaxed than he had in days, in spite of his display of understanding of the decision to send him back.

"No."

"No? He didn't send you with a message? Then why are you here?" Tom elbowed him in the side, and Harry hurried to add: "It's not that we're not glad to see you, Colonel, because we are, but we also don't want to see you get into more trouble."

Colborne barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Between his djinni caretaker and Harry Smith, what could go wrong? "I'm not leaving."

"What?" both men asked as one, drawing a laugh from him.

"What part of 'I'm not leaving' is hard to understand? I'm staying right here with you. Since my headache miraculously cleared, Wellington has ordered me to return to my post."

The look Harry gave him promised that there was another talk about that to come, later, in the privacy of one of their quarters.

"But that's wonderful, Sir," Ugly Tom declared. "Say, if you just talked to the Field Marshal, did he say anything about who was to come in as the new brigadier?"

Colborne fixed him with a long, mute look.

The pieces fell into place, and Harry threw up his hands with a loud, happy whoop, startling Colborne's horse. "You are! You are our brigadier! Tell me that you are! Why didn't you just _say_ so before?"

It took a moment of fighting with the reins before Colborne had his horse back where he was supposed to be. He treated the younger man to a dark look. "Until further notice, in any case. Maybe I would have if you'd let me finish. But you just had to keep interrupting me. Now run and get your horse. We have work to do."

"Yes, _Sir_!" Harry replied emphatically, vaulting off of the wall and heading for where the animals were tied.

Shaking his head, Colborne turned to Tom. "I think you better get out word about the new arrangements while I have a look around. I need to see what situation the General left us in. Leave word that if my baggage arrives back here, it's to be taken down into Vera. I trust you know where the brigadier's quarters are?"

The other man nodded. "That I do. Sir? Does that mean you're keeping me on?"

Colborne looked surprised at the question. "Of course I am. It would be quite stupid of me to replace a capable man who's already familiar with the position. That is, unless you'd rather not?"

"Unless I'd—" Tom almost choked on the unlikelihood of that. "Of course I want to! Thank you, Sir!"


	16. Chapter 16

Over the course of the next weeks, Colborne and Harry spent at least as much time in the saddle as out of it. Every morning saw them ride to inspect the picquets, always taking the time to at least exchange a few words with the men.

Where Skerrett had been respected as a commanding officer at first and barely tolerated by common soldiers and officers alike towards the end, Colborne had their love. They might not have spoken to him with as much deference as his position would have given him a right to demand, but he never seemed to mind. Skerrett had kept himself apart from the others. Colborne was one of them, in command, but nevertheless one of them.

Once they had finished the round of their own men, they directed their horses to the area beyond Vera, exploring and scouting the land between the town and the mountain ridges rising towards the border of France. Those ridges were swarming with Frenchmen now, busily fortifying their positions.

Over the course of the days, both of them committed every detail of the ground to their memories, talking over various ways to approach the French positions. There was no doubt that they would have to, sooner or later. They weren't far from the French border, and it would not take much to push them all the way back into their own country if they were successful.

The difficult part was that they had chosen a naturally easy to defend position to place their men in. Someone on their side obviously knew how to pick their locations.

The French were busy fortifying their lines. That much was obvious even from where they remained just out of reach of their muskets.

"Too bad we can't get any closer to them," Harry Smith observed as he put down his spyglass. "I'd like to know just what exactly they're building up there."

Colborne nodded slowly. "It would be nice to know exactly what we'll be facing," he agreed. "It isn't going to be an easy thing, rushing those positions, and it's going to get harder with every day they have to improve their fortifications."

Thoughtfully, he looked up at the mountains towering over Vera before turning back to Harry. "Smith, don’t you think it's time I learned a little more about that Alliance? You Fire Masters have some command of Air, don't you? Maybe we can send a Sylph or two to spy for us."

Harry laughed in reply, drawing a frown from Colborne.

"What's so funny about that?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry replied. "Except that you're forgetting a number of things. One, I'm not very good with Air. Doing anything with an element not your own is much harder work than working with the one that's natural to you, and I never had much patience for that. Two, you are thinking about learning to command your lesser affinity, Alliance or no, when you haven't even worked with anything bigger than the most basic of elementals in your own element, and haven't touched your major affinity at all yet. Three, you're talking about Air elementals there. You know how likely they are to actually stick to a task if they grow bored or find something more interesting to do. Just look at that djinni of yours – wherever it is right now."

" _He_ is not my djinni," Colborne insisted.

Harry answered "You inherited _him_ from your father. That makes him your djinni. But my point was that he considers 14 years a moment. When do you think those Slyphs you'd send would return to us, and how much would you rely on what they’d tell you? Maybe, if we had an Air Master to do it, yes. They know how to handle Sylphs and how to keep them in line. Also," he held up four fingers, "The French have masters, too, we both know, and at least some of them – probably most – are Fire Masters who likely have at least as much control of Sylphs as I do. Your spies would likely not go unnoticed."

"Too bad Cadoux isn't here anymore," Colborne mused. "Maybe he could have talked his little Sylph friend into helping."

He wasn't going to let the subject go, the younger man realised with a sigh. "That Sylph considers him roughly on the same level as a toy," he explained. "Would you take orders from a toy?"

"Probably not," Colborne admitted.

Harry thought for a moment. "The closest we have to an Air Master, to my knowledge, is Johnny Kincaid. But we can't exactly just ride over and commandeer him to talk to some Slyph or another for us, and he's only a Mage. He couldn't command them if he wanted to – though he'd probably know better how to ask them than I do."

Colborne thought about that for a moment. "How would you go about it if you were to call a Sylph?"

"I'd try an Invitation rather than a full Summons. I would assume that comes across better if I wanted something from them."

The Summons, Colborne had learned, compelled elementals who happened to be nearby to present themselves to him. An Invitation was no more than establishing a location in which they would be welcome and broadcasting that fact.

He rarely needed to Summon any of his Undines. They crowded in willingly enough the moment he extended the invitation. However, where his own elementals were concerned, he now knew exactly how and what to broadcast to make them want to come to him. If he was entirely honest with himself, it was altogether too easy. Often, they were hovering around him the moment he lowered his outermost shield a fraction.

Now, how to appeal to a Sylph?

For a moment, he thought that it might have been preferable to call the Ravens that had relayed Skerrett's words to him once before. Where had they got to anyway? He hadn't seen them again since the battle.

As he looked around, more out of reflex than because he expected to actually see any, he noticed a Sylph hovering not too far from them. A moment later, she flitted off to their other side, turning loops in the air and dashing from one place to the next, lingering only briefly in any one location.

A smile crept onto his lips as he realised that her behaviour was not entirely unlike Harry's restlessness. The man should have been an Air Master!

"What?" Harry wanted to know as he noticed his commanding officer's expression.

Colborne shook off the grin. "Nothing." He turned his attention back to the Sylph. "Hey there, pretty one," he called out. He still preferred to speak out loud when there was no one around to overhear him who was not aware of the existence of things such as elementals. Flattery, he had found, worked well with all elementals. Even shy little Alexander enjoyed hearing how beautiful he looked and how wonderfully his warmth relieved the ache in Colborne's shoulder.

It caught her attention, just as he had hoped. She zipped over, turning twice before his face and then steadying as if landing on an imaginary piece of ground in mid-air.

 _Hello, Water Master_ , her voice whispered in his mind. _Hello, Fire Master_.

Harry nodded at her, and Colborne executed a shallow bow from the saddle.

"You are a very fast flier," Colborne observed as he straightened again. "Why, I think I've never seen anyone quite so agile and quick in the air as you are."

The look Harry shot him clearly said 'you're laying it on thickly, old man.'

He knew he did, and he would lay it on even thicker if he thought it would help any. If nothing else, then he would find out how much use the Sylphs could be to him when he was not on the verge of panic from concern over a man going over the edge of a mountain path.

The Sylph beamed at him.

"We were just talking about something," Colborne went on. "A task that none of our elementals could fulfil, and neither could we. It would take someone small, and lightning-fast, and able to avoid anyone, no matter how closely they look."

 _What do you need, Water Master?_ The Sylph asked. She looked eager enough.

Colborne pointed at the fortifications that were being built up on the ridge. "We would like to know as much as we can about what is going on up there," he told her. "But they have Masters there, too, and anyone going to look would have to be able to dodge them. They would not like it if they knew we were trying to look in on them."

The little creature nodded sagely. _Like the bath._

"The bath?" Harry and Colborne asked as one. What was she talking about?

A giggle rose from the elemental, so rich that it was almost audible. _I once worked with a Master who didn't want anyone to look in on him in there_ , she elaborated.

"Well – and did you?" Colborne wanted to know, cocking an eyebrow at the translucent elemental.

She dashed around his head in a circle before settling before his eyes again. _Sometimes._ _Sometimes he was done by the time we got around his wards_.

Colborne made a note to himself. Air elementals were prone to curiosity. He had known that before, in fact, from Juana's teaching and Harry's random information, but it would be good to remember just in case he needed to draw their attention at some point.

"He must have been a very fast bather," he said out loud.

A satisfied smirk appeared on the elemental's face. _He turned all pretty red when he saw us._

Colborne answered with a smirk of his own and made another mental note. If he ever wanted those elementals to not do something, he better pretend he didn't care about it one way or the other. Being told not to seemed to incite their curiosity additionally, and he wasn't even sure how to place a ward to keep them out of anything.

_Do you ward your bath, Water Master?_

Colborne shot a glare at Harry, who was hiding his face behind one hand that did little to conceal or contain the snickering going on behind it.

"Not usually at the moment," Colborne told her with a straight face. Never would have been more like it. He had seen wards – certainly. Harry and Juana put them on things they wanted to remain untouched and on doors they didn't want anyone to listen through.

He thought he understood the theory behind them, but either that was a mistake on his part, or it was quite simply not enough to apply the principle to his own magic. Since moving into the brigadier's quarters, he had often wished that Senor Sánchez had been home. He was, the family, had told him, a Water Master and fighting somewhere in this war. María Álvarez was certain that he was alive and well, claiming that their elementals would have informed her had it been otherwise, but she did not know where he was, precisely. Not close enough for Colborne to drop by and ask for a lesson or two, in any case.

Still, while he didn't ward anything at all right now due to sheer lack of the skill if nothing else, he did not want to give the sylph anything she might come to view as a promise that he might break later. He didn't need some Air Elementals to come after him the way Water and some Fire had after Skerrett.

He was very much aware that it would probably be a good idea not to start, or blush, the first time the sylph surprised him in his bath, if he ever wanted to wash without disturbance again, though. Well, he could always press her into service and ask her to wash his hair for him – an activity rendered immensely more time-consuming if a man had only one hand that he could actually reach his head with.

For now, though…

"Do you know anyone who might be able to look in on the French up there and report back to us?"

 _I can do it!_ The Sylph bounced in mid-air enthusiastically. _I can do anything that requires speed and not being seen!_ She dashed off a little way up the slope without waiting for a reply, then came to a tumbling halt and dashed back, taking just long enough to miss Harry's groan.

_What are French?_

At least she had thought to ask… Colborne pointed. "The men up there on that ridge? Those are the French."

_Why?_

"Because they're from France. That's called French." Even as he said it, Colborne realised that there was probably no point in doing so – especially not if those elementals had no better understanding of nations than of time. And why should they?

The Sylph pondered the information for a moment. _Shouldn't they be called Frances then?_

"I don't think they would like that," Colborne told her. "Let's stick with calling them French. Frances is my sister."

 _They don't like your sister?_ The Sylph looked appalled.

Colborne didn't miss the glance Harry directed his way. 'Don't dig yourself in even deeper', it said.

"They don't much like any of us," he ventured carefully.

She considered that. _Well, if she stole their name…_

"They were called French long before his sister was called Frances," Harry cut in quickly.

The elemental looked at him, then back to Colborne, who nodded earnestly, then up the mountain with a rude noise. _Then they have no good reason to dislike her. I will go and bring back all the things you want to know about those_ French.

With that, she was off again, leaving the two men and their horses on their own.

"Do you see why it's a bad idea to send a Sylph as a spy now?" Harry asked, amusement plain on his face.

Colborne shrugged one shoulder. "I think she's quite charming."

"You would," Harry returned.  "It's your sister she's defending, and she doesn’t even know her."

"Fanny has that effect," Colborne claimed. "Even in absentia, it appears."

The younger man laughed with him. "Do your sisters have magic, Colonel?"

That was an answer that required some thinking. "I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "I didn't even know about magic the last time I saw them. I assume if I have it, Cordelia might have it, too, since we share the same father. But if she did, she would have had to show it before, wouldn't she?"

"Maybe," the younger man agreed. "But there are masters who are married to people without magic, and their spouses are none the wiser of it. That's how it usually happens – unless you have an entire family of mages and masters of all ages – including those not quite in control of their powers yet – , like mine, where it would be really hard to conceal, it's usually better for all involved if the existence of elemental magic just goes unmentioned and undisplayed. And if something happens after all, and some magic gets loose, people are really good at unseeing and explaining away what they just witnessed. If your mother had no magic, she probably never knew about her husband's affiliation with Air – and if you can hide your talent from a spouse, you can certainly hide it from a brother."

Now there was a thought. For a moment, Colborne entertained the notion of writing to Delia to ask her about the matter. And how would he go about that? _Dear Delia, you may think your brother has gone mad to ask you this, but do you happen to know anything about elemental magic? Have you ever seen any fairy-tale creatures in the air, earth, water or fire near you? Make sure that Duke does not see this letter, or word may get back to our father in law that Colonel Colborne's mind has snapped under the strains of war. Your most affectionate brother…_

He kept those thoughts to himself. "Good to know it is possible to conceal it," he said instead. "I admit I've been worried about what my lady wife would say if she found out."

"I believe fainting is generally considered the appropriate response," Harry remarked drily. "Look there. Your spy is returning already."

Indeed, the Sylph was flitting back to them, so excited that it seemed almost flushed in spite of its translucent nature.

 _I bring news!_ She proclaimed as she ground to a halt just above the ears of Colborne's horse, which either did not see the elemental to begin with or didn't care about her antics in the least.

"That was very fast, my pretty," Colborne told her appreciatively. "What news do you bring?"

_They are having bean soup for lunch._

Harry blinked rapidly as he tried to keep a straight face.

"That is… very interesting," Colborne told the elemental. Not very useful, though, he added in thought, taking care not to broadcast it. He hoped that it was not the only thing she had observed. "Did you see anything else as well? Maybe something about what they are doing with the walls?"

She nodded eagerly. _The French who sits where the gates open took off his boot._

A cough from Harry's direction earned the younger man a glare.

"And … ?" Colborne asked, hoping for some more interesting tidbits of information.

 _He has many holes in his sock._ She held up four fingers of one hand.

Harry averted his face.

Maybe asking a more precise question would work better. "Did you see how many French there were?"

The Sylph's head bobbed up and down with enthusiasm.

"How many?" Now they were getting somewhere.

_More._

Or not. "More than…?"

 _More_ , the Sylph repeated, apparently not quite understanding the question.

"I see." He did. He may not have learned much about the French camp, but he had clearly increased his knowledge of how Sylphs worked. Next time, he told himself, he'd try specifying one small thing to look for. If that worked, he could increase the tasks slowly until he had determined the limits of their capacities. If it didn't, he'd need to talk to an Air Master before he tried again. 

He returned his attention to the Sylph. "Thank you, my darling. You have been most helpful. May I call you if I need your help again?"

Her eyes lit up with a happy sparkle. _Oh yes! That was fun!_

With that, she dashed off on a breeze, disappearing from sight again.

"You can stop laughing," Colborne told Harry, who obediently turned back around and removed his gloved hand from his mouth.

"At least it's enthusiastic," the Fire Master decided. "Now what?"

Colborne extended his magic up the hill towards the French encampment. It went easily, following the water bound in the soil, racing along tendrils that must have been the roots drinking up moisture to supply their plants. Even though it cost him hardly any effort, it left him feeling unclean, the water edged with those unhealthy hues of Earth magic that bled some of their contamination into the clear green.

He didn't allow himself to shy back from it, however, until his magical senses were stopped by a boundary that felt like a wall of stone washed smooth by water over the course of millennia. There was no passing it.

Diverting his magic's path, he followed it part of the way before returning his full attention to Harry Smith. "We turn back home. I don't think we'll learn much more today. I can tell you our friend Benoit is up there, though."

Harry looked at him with raised eyebrows. "And you know that how exactly?"

Colborne swallowed several times. "Because the barrier that's keeping my magic out of their camp tastes of his. Now let's go back. I need to eat something to get this taste out of my mouth and wash. I accidentally stuck my magic into that foul mess in the ground."

He may have had the manners not to laugh openly at the Sylph his commanding officer was playing with, but that courtesy did not extend to the commanding officer himself as far as Harry was concerned – at least not while they were alone. "You do know," he said between chuckles. "That you can't exactly wash your magic."

*

Colborne almost felt out of place standing at the table in between much older men, looking at the plans Wellington laid out for them. He was by far the most junior officer in that inner circle.

Smith was standing aside with the men the other brigadiers had brought along to the meeting, looking much more at ease than Colborne felt.

At least Wellington had given no indication that he had any doubts whether he made the right decision by giving him the brigade for the time being.

"I'll give the French one chance to clear the pass and retreat into their own country," Wellington finally ended his orders, pulling a sealed letter from his pocket. "I'll have this delivered to their lower fortress tonight. If they are sensible men, they will know that they cannot stand against all the men we have assembled here, and will move."

That would have been nice, Colborne mused. It certainly would save both sides many wounded and dead.

However, it was better to expect that they would fight come morning. He was expected to attack the forts and take at least the lower one, better both, if it came to that.

It would have made him feel much better if he had had a better idea of how many men they had in there and what those fortresses had to offer by way of defence apart from their walls. 

He had never managed to get any sensible information out of his new Sylph friend, though, and none of them could simply go and knock on the Frenchmen's door asking to be let in to have a look around.

For a short while, he had entertained the idea to sneak in under cover of the invisibility shield, but eventually he’d decided that the risk was much too big. It was far from perfect. He was reasonably certain that his sentries would spot anyone trying to sneak in using it.

Better to assume the French Masters and Mages were at least as good – possibly better if Benoit had taught them what to look out for, or if it was even common knowledge among them. He wouldn't risk being captured because he was foolhardy enough to think he could escape notice that easily.

What Wellington had just said, though…

"Sir? That letter…" Colborne started carefully.

The Field Marshal fixed him with an icy glare. "What about it, Colonel?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to be the one to deliver it."

The corner of Wellington's mouth twitched. "They'll think themselves quite important if I send a brigadier as my errand boy," he observed.

"I don't have 'brigadier' written on my coat, Sir," Colborne pointed out. "And if I'm to lead the attack on that fortress, I'd really like to get the chance to have a glance inside it beforehand. This is too good an opportunity to pass up."

Wellington considered only for a second before handing over the letter. "If you get yourself taken prisoner, Colonel…" the rest of the threat remained unspoken.

The corners of Colborne's mouth twitched up. "I won't, Sir. My horse is fast."

Harry fell in beside him as he left the building. "Oh Colonel, I wish I could come along!" he said, with an enthusiasm that Colborne couldn't help but smile at. "But you better take one of my horses! They're faster!"

Colborne laughed. "They're also a lot more likely to lose me on the way. And since I don't think your horses will report back to us any better than our little friend does, I think I’d better take my own."

They had reached the horses by now, and Colborne tucked the letter safely into this belt before mounting. "I'll try not to take too long," Colborne promised. He could see Smith was going to be concerned for his well-being until he saw him return safely.

It was a nice evening for a canter across the hills, and for a short while, Colborne allowed himself to enjoy it.

He fumbled the letter from his belt and his handkerchief from his pocket as he neared the first sentry, holding both out together to keep from being shot.  

"Halt!" The sentry called out to him in French.

"Message to deliver!" Colborne shouted back in the same language, waving the missive and his improvised white flag without slowing down, hoping he wouldn't end up shot from behind for it.

His horse went down the path and through their outer line of fortification, and Colborne extended his magical senses to look around with more than just with his eyes.

The French hat settled down quite nicely here, but as he turned his horse in a circle inside the fortification, he could spot a weakness or two in their layout. It was all he needed to know.

He saw some magic, but not enough to be of any great concern. That was, unless they knew ways to hide the shields on their sleeping places as well as the personal ones they kept on themselves – and if they had, he would have expected not to see any at all.

Unless they had all their masters and mages in the upper fortification, tomorrow his brigade would find its task much easier than it had that day by the bridge.

Just as he finished his canter around the French post, with a wary eye on the French soldiers watching him with his white flag and his envelope, an officer stepped out of a shelter and towards him.

Colborne couldn't help smiling when he recognised the man. Slowing down his horse, he walked it over to where Benoit was approaching, coming to a stop right next to the man.

"Field Marshal Wellington sends his respects and this letter," he announced, still speaking French. "I trust you will ensure that it will be received by your commanding officer, Colonel?"

Benoit took the letter from Colborne's hand. "You've got some nerve, riding in here like that," he observed. "Would you care to dismount and have some wine?"

The sparkle in the Frenchman's eyes suggested that agreeing would be a bad idea, not only because he was expected back.

"Another time," Colborne declined, the white handkerchief still in his hand. "For now, I'll just take my leave." He pulled at the reins with his left hand, turning the horse to face back towards the entrance, then, before Benoit could say anything more, touched his spurs to the animal's flanks and raced away.

His ears were straining for any indication of pursuit or command to stop him. All he did hear was a string of expletives in a voice unusually harsh for someone speaking French, followed by a more articulate "How did that man get into my camp?"

He almost pitied the poor sentry he had simply ridden past.


	17. Chapter 17

The French were not inclined to surrender the pass peacefully, and the attack was to commence the next afternoon. Wellington's plans included multiple concurrent attacks on different positions held by the French around the town of Vera.

Colborne and his brigade had been given the task to storm the hill on which the two French fortifications were blocking their way through the pass.

Left mostly to his own devices regarding how to manage that feat, Colborne had decided to divide the men under his command into three groups. The lower part of the hill forked into three tongues, providing good paths for approaching the lower fort from three directions.

His Portuguese were to go up on one side, the Rifles on the other. With their darker uniforms, they were most likely to get close to the French lines before they were spotted. They were to draw out the French, if possible, while Colborne led his red-jacketed regiment up the middle fork to seize the fort.

One thing that Colborne had been able to ascertain the day before was that, just as he had hoped, the dense forests all around Vera obstructed the view from the Frenchmen's position in spite of their elevated location.

Unless they had hidden men somewhere or brought in reinforcements from the second fort during the night, they would be outnumbered nicely by their attackers.

Harry reined in his horse next to Colborne as they waited for the first of their men to emerge from the trees to offer the diversion they needed to advance with the more conspicuous part of their troops.

The younger man had his shields up, apparently ready to defend himself magically if the necessity arose. He whistled a few short notes, and Colborne watched in awe as two magnificent creatures seemed to materialise out of nowhere. They were reminiscent of birds, coloured in many hues from yellow to dark red, their long tails appearing to trail flames. In wingspan, they outdid everything Colborne had seen before. Their beaks suggested predators.

"Phoenixes," Harry said, keeping his voice low so only Colborne would hear. "They protect. If I'm lucky, they will even deflect a bullet. They were most chagrined when that ball hit my ankle. They weren't looking so low, you see. I was twitchy for days because my Phoenixes kept sticking their beaks in my face asking for reassurance that I wasn't mad at them – they're not quite as translucent as most other Elementals, as you can see. Luckily everybody else thought it was because of the pain."

"Are there any water equivalents to Phoenixes?" Colborne wanted to know.

Smith shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never seen a Water Master in battle. Did your friend Benoit have anything nearby when you fought the other time?"

"He's not my friend, and I didn't pay attention," the older man replied. "I was a little preoccupied with other things at the time." He raised his eyes to the second fort and pointed. "I want to have a nice cup of tea up there and maybe try some of Benoit's wine before tonight, though."

His companion laughed. "Well, I wish we were already there, Colonel. And I truly hope you'll let me share that wine."

"I have a better idea," Colborne returned with a serious face. "When we're up there – if we both make it alive, I'll recommend you for promotion. How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful, Sir," Harry said, his eyes turning dreamy for a second as he imagined just what would be the first thing he'd buy for Juana with the raise that would come with a higher rank. He didn't allow himself the luxury of letting his mind wander for long, however. "I think I’d better make sure you make it up there in one piece as well, then!" with a quick motion of his hand, well-concealed from the other men, he indicated one of his Phoenixes and pointed the fiery bird into Colborne's direction.

The Elemental balked, moving only a little and hovering still in Harry's proximity.

"I don't think it wants to guard me. Doesn't seem to like Water Masters," Colborne observed.

Harry cursed at the Phoenix under his breath. "Will you move, you damned bird? I'll Command you if I must!"

"Don't." Colborne's voice was soft. "It's not worth starting a fight with your Elementals over. I'll be fine without it." A Command, he understood, could not be refused by the Elementals, as long as the Master issuing it was powerful enough. They didn't like to be Commanded, though. The Phoenix would probably have forgiven Harry for this one instance, but Colborne himself felt much more comfortable not having a protector at all than one he couldn’t rely on.

Harry's face clearly reflected his unhappiness, but he wasn't given any opportunity to dwell on the matter for long.

The Rifles were breaking out of their cover above them. Their appearance brought an instant reaction on the side of the French.

Rather than shooting from the walls – something that Colborne had ascertained to be almost impossible during his brief visit the night before – they came rushing out through the entrance, throwing themselves at the green-clad soldiers with misplaced confidence.

Colborne walked his horse forward, indicating to the men at his back that they should follow him.

They advanced at a moderate pace while their leader carefully extended his mind to scan for magical attacks in addition to the physical ones. He found little. There were tendrils of magic here and there, but they were very restrained. They probably did not want to risk to start a forest fire that would burn down their fortresses along with the soldiers. There was some of Benoit's magic in the soil, but with French and British engaged so closely, it was hard for him to make the ground slip under British boots only, his task further made difficult by the fact that the rains had ceased weeks earlier, and there wasn't nearly as much water in the soil as there had been by the bridge. In addition to that, without a raging river to draw power from at his back, the French Water Master had to use his power more economically.

Colborne withdrew his magic back into himself, strengthening his shields instead. He remembered Benoit's promise to return the favour of cutting him off from his magic.

The French had engaged the Rifles by now, but while shooting uphill promised much more success than trying it the other way around, the rush from the fortress was sufficient to drive the attackers a little way back down the slope.

They didn't get very far before they hit the advancing red-coats, though.

Surprise was evident in the sudden halt of the French efforts when green mixed with red and they realised that the men they had been fighting were far from all that was currently attacking.

"So close already…" Colborne heard somewhere to his side. So the French weren't the only ones who were surprised.

"So close indeed," he answered, extending his sword as far as he could and glad that Smith raised his in response to catch the men's attention. The opening in the fort's walls stood open, guarded insufficiently by men who, as far as he could tell from where he was, were itching to leave their posts and join the fray. It should be easy enough to take the fray to them.

With a "Charge!" that no one could mistake for anything but a direct order, Colborne touched his spurs to his horse's flanks and felt the animal's muscles bunch under him as it surged forward and up the hill. At the head of his men he pressed through rows of Rifles and Frenchmen, now also joined by the Portuguese who had advanced somewhat more slowly from the opposite side, relying on his men to follow his lead and ignore the fighting around them as they stormed the fort.

The French realised what he was up to just in time to start blocking the entrance again, but not quite soon enough to manage the feat.

Barrelling aside a man who would not move fast enough, Colborne's horse raced through the entrance of the fort for the second time in as many days. His red-coats spread out, taking possession of the redoubt.

It went fast and smoothly, most of the French breaking out at the back and retreating to the higher, more strongly fortified position rather than stay to fight the wave of red flowing into their fort.

Outside, the French fighting the Rifles and Portuguese Caçadores beat a hasty retreat of their own when they realised that their post had been taken.

Colborne looked around, walking his horse along the perimeter of the fort as his men rushed back and forth looking for stragglers.

"Secure this place," he told his officers before riding over to Harry. "Well, Smith," he told him, "We're halfway there."

The younger man grinned at his commanding officer. "The harder half is still before us, though," he noticed. "That other fortress looks a lot better fortified from here."

With a nod, Colborne indicated his agreement. He had noticed that.

He looked down the hill as far as his position permitted, trying to gauge the situation the other parts of Wellington's forces were in. "Ride over to Sir Cole," he told Harry thoughtfully after a moment. "Ask if he can support us as we go on to the top."

"At once, Sir," Smith confirmed and raced off back down the hill as Colborne turned around to face up the slope again.

Yes, taking that upper fort would be harder work – much harder, since now the French were warned, and they were surely waiting up there in full force. He could not hope to draw them out and take the redoubt with little resistance again but would have to storm that place against a real defence.

His shoulder ached in memory of what could happen when people were shooting down at you from walls. Alexander, attentive as ever, emerged from his jacket and draped himself over the offending joint.

Pushing the memory aside, Colborne focused on the stretch of hill in front of him instead.

Without his men to take into consideration, Benoit would surely try to do something. He hoped that the best the other Water Master would be able to do would be to collect the moisture left in the soil to ensure bad footing and a slippery underground to delay their advance.

The soil up here was not as saturated with unpleasant Earth magic as it was below, making it somewhat less unpleasant to spread out his magic through it. He couldn't keep Benoit from using his own stores of magic any way he chose without repeating the feat from the bridge – which he didn't think he could do in the middle of a charge – but he could at least take away the extra water bound in the ground.

He beckoned to it with his mind, drawing on the veins of green and pulling them out of the golden brown surrounding them. With the water magic came the physical water, leaving behind earth as parched as after a long draught. Since he needed a way to dispose of that water, he sent it trickling towards the Bidassoa. The river would hardly notice the little addition.

When he had finished, the grass between the two fortifications had acquired a decidedly brownish look. He could only hope that no one would notice – or that if they did, they would not think too much about it.

Harry returned to his side just as he finished. "General says you'll get any support from him that you need," he announced.

"We," Colborne corrected. "We will get the support that we need. Have the men line up again. We'll need the Riflemen to give us good cover fire if we want to get any men up there alive."

They advanced a little more slowly this time, since the ground was getting steeper with every yard they covered. Colborne saw the phoenixes dash madly around Harry, frantic not to miss any danger to their Master that they needed to deflect. At that moment, he was glad that the Elementals had not wanted to guard him. Smith may have been able to ignore the fiery creatures, but he had to quench an urge to douse them with a good bucket of water magic even as it was.

He left his magic fanned out, expecting some kind of attack to commence now. They wouldn't just give up that other fort as easily as they had the lower one. They couldn't.

There was nothing at first, as they advanced through volley upon volley of musket fire. It was all he could do not to duck low over his horse's neck in anticipation of a hit, and he could only marvel at how easily Smith was riding not too far off to his right, apparently trusting his Phoenixes to keep him safe. His horse was almost prancing up the slope.

They had crossed almost half of the distance when Colborne felt a brush against his magic.

Focusing on it, he recognised Benoit's green Water Magic spreading out in carefully probing tendrils from the upper fort. Benoit had to be in a state of great confusion over what he found – or didn't find. Even his magic felt confused. Had he been so preoccupied up there that he had not noticed the soil – thin over a layer of rock here – had been drained in the meantime?

Colborne withdrew a little and snapped the green tint that symbolised his own magic before his eyes around, bringing it down hard on the front-most edge of Benoit's as if slapping a probing hand that had ventured where it was not supposed to go.

He didn't linger to see if the message had gotten across, instead withdrawing behind his shields. If Benoit couldn't see him, he wouldn't be able to find him unless he could sense and follow his magic.

If he had been where there was a direct line of sight between them, Colborne should have been able to see him too – even if his physical eyes couldn't make out features at the distance and against the bright sun, it would have been hard to miss the bright green of a Water Master using his magic. Even young Pablo shone like a green sun when he tried to exercise his power.

The Rifles had the advantage of shooting uphill, hitting with some regularity, while the advancing men were suffering comparatively few losses. Colborne thought he felt the rush of air as a ball whizzed past just above him. Shooting down was harder than shooting up, unless you were shooting down from a wall at a red-clad officer standing at its foot – that made for some really unpleasant wounds.

Presently, the first rows had reached the walls of the second French post, and some men were starting to scale them, jumping up and pulling themselves over to get inside and continue the battle in closer – and more evenly matched – quarters. Muskets and faces withdrew from the parapets and the screaming of the muskets stopped.

A moment later, the barrier that blocked the entrance to the fort was pushed aside and Colborne urged his horse forward, expecting a rush of French soldiers to pour out to engage them on the slopes – a situation in which they, then, coming from above, would have the advantage.

Just in time, he realised that no such thing was happening. They were being let in by his own men.

Glad as he was that there would not be too many more wounded and dead right now, he could hear some grumbling from men who had been anticipating battle, only to be denied it now, around him.

He entered the fort just in time to see the last of the French crowd down into a ravine, where they seemed to disappear from sight.

Colborne exchanged a quick glance with Harry, who shrugged.

Of course they could have sent down a few of their masters and mages in pursuit, hoping that whoever else they sent along wouldn't come to the conclusion that they had all gone mad, hunting nothing. It would have been an unnecessary risk of men, though. They would have another chance at those Frenchmen – and their superiors could hardly be happy when they realised that they had abandoned their posts that easily.

As he watched his men secure the second redoubt, Colborne's attention was drawn by a small, semi-transparent shape that hurtled towards him through the air, circled his head once and stopped in front of his face.

 _I found some more French for you, Master!_ The little Sylph he had nicknamed Sylphia by now announced.

He started. It was the first time she had actually called him Master. He wasn't at all sure that he liked it. But if she had found the French making off through the ravine, he had more pressing matters to think of right now. His precise relationship with the Sylph could wait and be solved in its own time.

 _Show me_ , he asked her, for once without speaking out loud. There were too many men around who would be wondering at their Colonel talking to empty air.

The Sylph dashed off, and Colborne rode after her, signalling for Smith to follow with a quick jerk of his head.

From the corner of his eye, he saw that Harry's brother Tom, as well as his own adjutant, fell in behind them, while some of the men scrambled after the four of them.

His mistake became evident once they had ridden a little while, galloping after a Sylph that seemed to have no notion of the fact that creatures such as horses – or the men following them on foot – did not find it as easy to move in mountain country as she, who could fly, did. Nor did they usually move as quickly.

Twice they lost sight of her and twice she returned a little way towards them upon Colborne's mental call, looking quite impatient with them.

The French she had found couldn't be the French that had escaped from the redoubt. That much was obvious now. There was no way they could have made it that far in so short a time.

Still, better to press on and have something to show for it, than to return and maybe be asked why they had ridden off that far in the first place.

Sylphia stopped at the edge of a ravine, pointing down proudly. _There. French._

_Yes, French. Thank you, Sylphia._

He tried hard to make his thoughts sound grateful, though at the moment, he felt anything but. There were French down there alright. A whole column of them, fresh and ready for action. They were four officers and two handfuls of soldiers, out of breath and only able to keep up with the horses at all on the rough terrain because boots navigated the mountain country more easily than hooves, allowing them to cut across in a straighter line.  

There was another group of British soldiers on the other side of the ravine, from the glimpse Colborne had gotten, about as many as their own.

They were lucky so far. Down in the ravine, the Frenchmen couldn't see them or the ones on the other side. There was no way they could have stood against the entire column. He didn't have the time to count, but his estimate suggested that there were several hundred men down there.

The sensible thing to do would have been to retreat carefully, under cover as far as they could, and to get back to safety, hoping the French would not spy them after all and take them captive or shoot them down like the wonderful targets they would make in their red jackets against the grey mountain backdrop.

Suddenly, a crazy idea came to him. What if he could keep them from seeing how small their number really was?

In the worst case, the outcome would be no different from what they were facing anyway.

In the best…

Colborne looked around for a path down into the ravine and, spotting one, directed his horse onto it.

"Colonel!" he heard Smith gasp behind him

He didn't have the time to respond. The risk that the French would advance to a point from where they could actually see how many men he had brought while he stopped to explain himself was too big.

Hoof beats behind him told him that Smith was following. Good, loyal Harry Smith, unwilling to let his colonel ride into disaster unaccompanied.

The French officer leading the column looked quite amazed when he saw a single British colonel followed by a green-jacketed officer boldly ride up to him as if he weren't backed by several hundred men.

Colborne stopped his horse just in front of the Frenchman's, forcing him to come to a halt as well.

"You're cut off," he announced, speaking French in a voice so calm as if he had had the entire brigade at his back. "Lay down your weapons."

For a moment, the French officer looked around doubtfully. His eyes briefly came to rest on Tom Smith, who had just advanced far enough towards the edge of the ravine to be visible, as well as a couple of soldiers who were standing by his horse.

Then he followed Colborne's indicating hand to where more British soldiers had just come into view on the other side of the ravine, marching on as if following orders to cut off any retreat.

With a tight-lipped smile, the Frenchman drew and surrendered his sword.

"Tell your men to put down your weapons and then move them over there." Even as he said it, Colborne could hardly believe that he was in the process of making a few hundred prisoners with less than fifteen men at his back.

Things were going smoothly now, but the French would soon realise their mistake. He needed more men.

Turning to Harry, he almost told him to go and get some. He stopped himself as he realised that if he did that, a single Frenchman sufficiently proficient in English could ruin everything.

If he had been a Fire Master or Harry a Water one, they might have been able to communicate the same way they could with the elementals, at least while they were close enough for their magic to touch. Being of antagonist elements, that road was closed to them.

He needed someone to relay his message – someone they could both speak to and who would speak to both of them.

Alexander was out of the question. The Fire Elemental still refused to talk to anyone but Colborne. Even Juana's most insistent attempts to get him to do more than allow her to feed him from time to time had failed so far.

Maybe, though, there was someone else he could ask.

 _Sylphia!_ he called soundlessly, forcing himself to keep his eyes on his French counterpart instead of looking at the translucent shape that came racing towards him.

_I need your help, little one. Can you tell Smith there that he needs to go and get me some more men?_

The sylph clapped her hands in glee and darted away, circling Harry twice before relaying the message. Colborne could only hope that she did so correctly.

Only moments later, Harry turned his horse and rode up out of the ravine, leaving Colborne alone with his captives.

The Sylph returned to Colborne's side and sketched a salute. _Mission accomplished_ , she announced. _You're so much more fun than my last master, Master!_

 _Thank you, darling_ , Colborne returned, trying to figure out just how many minutes he would have to stay here with his captured enemy, working hard to not sweat with fear of their finding out that he had been bluffing all along. Luckily, putting on a calm demeanour in the face of peril was something he had learned early on, ingrained by his first school, where showing fear could easily lead to a doubling of whatever sentence you had been given.


	18. Chapter 18

Sylphia might not have been much use as a spy, and somewhat dangerous as a scout, but she certainly was an eager and attentive bath attendant. While the tiny hands rubbing soap into his curls took a little getting used to, it was nice to just lean back and relax as the Elemental went to work.

Made cautious by experience, he waited for the Sylph to dash away from his head before reaching for the pitcher of clear water and rinse out the soap. The first time they had tried these arrangements, he had ended up pouring it all over the Elemental, who had shook herself vigorously under tinkling laughter, obviously enjoying the new game but in the process spraying water all over the room and forcing Colborne to dry the towel and his clothes before he could use either. It wasn't a horrible amount of work, but calling water to him out of things that had soaked it up still was harder than he liked.

That probably suggested that he should have made sure to scatter water here and there so he had reason to practice, but his bath was one thing he wanted to enjoy without adding any extra effort.

Still, thinking of water made him wonder about the solitude of his bath. Whenever he ventured close to any body of water, he would find at least some of his undines waiting for him. Why had none of them ever shown up in the bath water? It wasn't that he _wanted_ to share his water with tiny naked females, but it certainly was an interesting question.

Did they actually have a concept of privacy?

Alexander scampered off of the towel to avoid being sprayed with water as Colborne stepped out of his bath. The Salamander would never understand his human friend's habit of immersing his body in a tub of water every now and then, but he apparently accepted it as a Water Master's peculiarity. Colborne's one attempt to explain that Harry and Juana engaged in the same habit had met confusion so strong that he had quickly changed the subject.

Having a pre-heated towel was one of the vast benefits of being friends with a Salamander, as Colborne had found – as long as you put your towel far enough from your bath to not accidentally get any water on it while you were in the tub.

Mostly dry except for his hair, which was still plastered wetly around his face, Colborne quickly dressed in breeches and shirt – an action welcomed with great enthusiasm by Alexander as he dived down Colborne's collar.

He scooped up a bit of the bath water in the pitcher again and cleaned it with a thought.

"Isabel," he called softly, causing the elemental to silently fade into being there.

_I'm here, Master._

Colborne smiled at her. "So I see. May I ask you a question, pretty one?" Flattery went a good way towards getting what he wanted no matter which Elemental he was talking to.

 _Certainly, Master._ She giggled in his mind as she turned to lounge comfortably in the pitcher as if it held a little undine-armchair.

"Why are none of you ever in the bathwater?" he gestured towards the tub, just in case she didn't understand the difference between a proper bath and dipping into a river or a pond.

She made a face at him. _It's dirty._

"That's not very diplomatic," he observed. "I just washed in it. It was clean when I got in."

 _You put in dirt,_ the Undine explained.

"I wash off dirt, you mean," Colborne corrected.

Isabel shook her head emphatically. _You put in a stone that makes dirt go in the water. It smells bad and it tastes worse._ She wrinkled her nose at the idea. _You smell of it now, too._

He thought about it for a second before pointing at the bar of soap. "You mean that?"

Her head bobbed up and down quickly.

"Thank you, Isabel. You've been quite helpful." He fed a small tendril of his magic to her before dismissing her, hoping that Harry had been right and magic could not be washed and therefore not acquire the taste of soap.

So the bathtub would be an undine-free space by virtue of the water being soapy. He filed away the information and slipped on his shoes to join his hosts for dinner.

*

An unexpected guest was waiting for him in the cottage's main room.

Facing away from him, a familiar uniformed figure was standing by the window, looking out into Vera.

He certainly was a welcome sight. "Andrew!" Colborne's voice reflected his pleasure at seeing his fellow officer. It had been too long since they had had an opportunity to share a table and talk.

As a matter of fact, he thought, the last time they had done that had been the time that Skerrett had invited them both to dinner. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the memory. Warned by Harry that the General had bought a grand total of two bottles of wine to share among all of them, they had had themselves a bit of fun with their commanding officer, though they had had to pay for it by being served the worst coffee he had tasted in his life.

Colonel Barnard turned, and as he did so, it became obvious that the man had not come to make use of an opportunity to catch up with a friend, congratulate each other on battles well fought and enjoy a glass or good wine.

"What were you thinking?" the older man thundered, the displeasure that was so stark on his face colouring his voice as well.

Colborne, about to cross the room to shake his visitor's hand, stopped in his tracks. What had he done? He couldn't remember anything that might have caused Barnard to get so angry with him. Was this about the capture of the four hundred French? He had been called crazy for it by more people than he cared to count since then, but no one had yet denied that it had been a brilliant move. Mad, yes – but an outstandingly inventive kind of mad.

"What exactly are we talking about?" he asked carefully.

"You put in Harry Smith for a promotion!" The tone was more accusatory than Colborne thought appropriate, though the statement as such certainly was correct.

He nodded. "So I did. He deserves it. He has shown himself an outstandingly—"

"Smith is still one of my officers," Barnard interrupted him with a snarl. "It's not your place to suggest him for a promotion. I decide which ones of my officers are put forward – not _you_."

"He _is_ my brigade major," Colborne pointed out.

That did nothing to calm down the other man. "And you are only in temporary command while Skerrett's on sick leave. You're getting too comfortable in that position, Colborne! Remember that it's not yours to keep."

He hadn't forgotten that, and he hadn't intended to. All that he had done was try to fill the position to the best of his skill and knowledge, and no one seemed to have found any fault with the way in which he did it so far. Trying to understand Barnard's reaction, Colborne found himself at a loss. He wasn't trying to take anything that wasn't his. He hadn't done anything but commend a capable officer for a promotion that he more than deserved – and needed, truth to be told. He had a wife to support after all.

While he was still pondering his options and possible responses, Barnard went on, his anger still unabated. "In the very least, you should have come to me first! Do you know what I looked like, hearing from others that Smith was suggested for the brevet? Do you know that there are twenty in my – _his_ – regiment who by rights should have their promotion before him. You can't just go and do whatever you please just because you impressed Wellington with you little escapades."

So they were back to the four hundred French now?

Still unsure what exactly it was that had made Barnard think that he was disregarding things – the rules, the proper order of promotion, Colonel Barnard in person –, Colborne tried to explain himself. "Andrew, I never meant to—"

"No!" Barnard cut him off once again. "You only meant to play things by your own rules, just like all of you do whenever you think you can get away with it! You must be quite proud of yourself for getting Wellington to keep you after the way you acted with Skerrett!"

"Now will you stop it?" Colborne was shouting back now, since an increase in volume seemed to be the only thing that still stood a chance at getting through to Barnard. "I recommended Harry because he deserves a reward for the exemplary work he's done. If you have a problem with me, though I can't fathom why just now, then let's hear it and we'll have it out – but leave Smith out of it! It's not right that you'd punish him because of something you think I did."

He felt Alexander squirm inside his shirt, made uncomfortable by the shouting, but he couldn't spare him more than a brief reassuring thought. He had clamped down on the ties of magic that connected him to his undines the moment things had started to get heated, so while they had acquired a few onlookers, none of his elementals were as much as putting a toe out of line.

Except, that was, for Sylphia, who was making rude gestures at Barnard from her precarious perch on top of a window frame.

Barnard stared at him. " _Captain_ Smith will not be promoted over the heads of nearly two dozen from his regiment. No matter how much you'd like to put one of your own before the, Master of something-or-another Colborne."

Colborne's eyes widened. That was what this was about?

"Water. And I didn't ask for the Mastery," he pointed out, his voice low again. "Until just few months ago, I had no idea anything like this even existed.

It didn't do much to calm down Barnard. "You certainly haven't wasted any time carving your place among them, though! And just look at yourself. A brigadier, Lieutenant-Colonel Colborne?"

"A temporary brigadier," Colborne pointed out.

Barnard snorted. "You think he would have given you that post if you weren't one of them? After all that happened with Skerrett?"

Colborne searched his mind for a moment. Could it be that the mere fact that he had shown a talent for magic had changed the way Wellington was treating him? "Actually, I do," he concluded. "The magic is why he almost sent me back. I have no training. I am working hard but there is much that I still need to learn. No, the magic surely is the last thing he gave me that post for."

Doubt appeared on Barnard's features. He was at least considering it.

Unfortunately, Alexander picked that moment to poke his head out of Colborne's shirt, apparently emboldened by the fact that the yelling had stopped for the moment.

Barnard caught sight of him, and his face darkened. "Water Master, is it?" he ground out. "Water Master and associating with a _Salamander_? Don't you dare tell me any more lies, Colborne! No matter if you're a Water Master with a Salamander or—" his eyes went to the floor, where a number of undines were crowding around Colborne's feet – "a Fire Master with Undines, either way you must be bloody damn powerful to force the opposite element to stay with you. Do you seriously expect me to believe that had nothing to do with it?"

Alexander dove back inside Colborne's clothes faster than ever since Skerrett had left them. His human friend quickly sent some reassuring thoughts after him before the Salamander could make it all the way into his underwear.

"It's not like that…" Colborne started.

Barnard stepped away from the window. "You know what? I don't care what way it is. But Smith's promotion is _not_ going to go through."

With that he turned towards the door and stalked out, almost snarling as he passed the same Harry Smith whose promotion he had gotten so worked up over, as well as his wife, just outside the cottage.

Harry caught the door before it could slam shut and stepped inside.

Colborne was still staring after Barnard, not at all sure what to make of this outburst. He had considered the man a friend – still did, in fact – and he had just acted as if Colborne's sudden acquisition of magic had made him a member of some secret club that dispensed favours among its own and happily ignored everyone else.

The door closed firmly behind Juana, and Colborne directed his attention at his guests. Smith seemed a shade paler than usual, which, he assumed, would describe his own complexion rather well, too.

"How much did you hear?" Colborne wanted to know.

"Enough," Harry answered, reaching out with one hand to placate Juana, who seemed about to launch into a tirade of her own. Either she had acquired more English than Colborne had thought in the meantime, or Harry had translated what they had heard for her – or enough of it to give her an idea of the problem they were facing.

He took a steadying breath and moved to the table, inviting both of them to sit.

"I'll see Wellington about this," Colborne promised. "This isn't going to be the last of it. You deserve that promotion."

With a quick wave of his hand, Harry declined the offer. "So do many others," he pointed out. "It may have been the only valid point he had, but it is true that I'd be skipping right over the heads of a lot of good men who deserve their turn at a promotion as much as I do – or more so."

His voice was light, but Colborne could see the strain around his eyes. Harry had been making plans what he would do with the raise in pay that accompanied a promotion.

"It's not right," the older man went on, shaking his head. "I'm not even sure what his main problem was. He didn't get that worked up because it's not your turn yet. Is it true that the Masters promote each other over everyone else?"

Harry laughed at that. "Certainly not," he confirmed what Colborne had thought. "Though of course it does happen in the course of things, especially in a brigade stuffed as full of them as ours is. Why, you weren't going to recommend me because I happen to be a Master, were you?"

"Of course not!"

Alexander wriggled inside of his shirt and finally crept out of his collar again to settle on his shoulder, apparently convinced that now that Harry and Juana were here, the yelling was over for good.

María Álvarez seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as she picked that moment to appear from wherever she had gone to sit out Barnard's explosion to quickly set the table for them all.

"Thank you," Harry told her as she filled his plate. The expectation of having his promotion delayed did not seem to quench his appetite, as he tucked in quite enthusiastically. "You see," he told Colborne around a mouthful of potatoes, "Barnard is…"

Colborne raised his eyebrows at the younger man's hesitation. "Barnard is what?" he prompted after a moment.

Harry sighed. "I've only heard this from Johnny Kincaid, who once shared a bottle of wine with Barnard – or probably more than one. In any case, they must have been quite drunk, Barnard more so than Kincaid, even, and the good Colonel told him a thing or two about himself."

Colborne mentally rolled his eyes. If that story was true, Barnard had made the worst possible choice for a confessor, and most of his regiment probably knew all about the details of that conversation by now. "Well, enlighten me," he told Harry. It wasn't that he was looking for gossip, but at this moment, he was going to accept anything that would shed some light on Barnard's earlier erratic behaviour.

"So the short version," Harry explained. "Is this: It appears that Colonel Barnard is descended from a family of Masters that are quite proud of their skills. You have to understand that magic is a lot more active and present in Ireland than it is on our island. The Irish also tend to bring forth the stronger mages and masters, on average. In any case, it must have become obvious quite early on that young Andrew is a bit of a curiosity – he can see the elementals, but he cannot command a single one of them. He doesn't even have the most basic skills of a mage. Kincaid speculated that he may be entirely unmagical and the elementals merely show themselves to him because of some family connection or another or because some powerful relative left some mark on him trying to help him along in his magical development that never came."

He had to stop for breath and a sip from his glass then, giving Colborne the opportunity to interject: "I noticed he saw them. I didn't know that someone unmagical could see elementals at all."

"They usually don't show themselves to those but they can if they so choose. Anyway, it was the greatest disappointment to his family, and everyone must have tried very hard to get him to 'find' his magic after all."

"The poor man!" Juana exclaimed, suddenly appearing a lot less angry at him. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for him, always expected to do things that he could not!" That being said, she set her lips firmly and went on: "Still, that is no excuse for depriving my Enrique of his rank!"

Harry chuckled and covered her hand on the table with his own briefly. "He's not depriving me of anything, love. I'll simply get it a little later." He turned back towards Colborne as he continued. "Somewhere along the way, he conceived the notion that all Masters and Mages considered themselves members of their own little exclusive club – which admittedly a lot of the lodges are – and wouldn't have anything to do with those not affiliated with any element – which is entirely untrue. Or, well, as a Master you will always associate with other Masters and Mages, and it's just that much less effort if you don't have to forever watch what you're doing to avoid giving yourself away, but you'd be pretty lonely if you only ever wanted to be around other Masters. Also, the world is mostly run by those without magic, so it would be very unwise to simply disregard or even alienate them. He doesn't care a great deal about that, though. Like most, he sees what he wants to see. Usually, what they want to see is that there are no elementals and nothing out of the ordinary is happening."

"But he wants to see masters who ignore him for not having magic," Colborne finished as Harry had to come up for air again. "What would have happened if one of your brothers had been born without magic?"

Smith shrugged. "Not a big deal, I assume." He looked as if he had never even considered the possibility before, though. "Our mother doesn't have an element, so he wouldn't have been alone in the family either."

"It is not unusual for magic to skip a generation here and there," Juana added. "My grandmother had none, but her children did and her granddaughters do. I have a cousin who does not, though. It is no shame." 

"Barnard seems to think differently about that," Colborne pointed out.

Harry pointed to his commanding officer's still-untouched plate. "Nothing to be done about that now," he pointed out. "Eat, Colonel. Your meal is getting cold and you're makin' us feel right impolite for enjoying our food while you're just staring at yours."


	19. Chapter 19

Fighting a sense of unease that had been lingering for a while, Colborne reined in his horse and looked around.

There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen – but then again there wasn't much to be seen but forest. The mountains in this area weren't high enough to be bare, most of the land between villages covered with dense growth.

The ground crunched under his horse's hooves as he let him walk forward again. It seemed that the sky had spent itself entirely by the deluge they had had until just a little more than a month ago. Since then, no drop of rain had fallen, and the ground was as dry as the stretch of hill that he had emptied of water to prevent Benoit from taking magical action against them that day above Vera.

Colborne was surprised by how keenly he felt the lack of water after experiencing its abundance not too long ago. He wasn't exactly fatigued by it, but he did notice that he had drawn extra energy from the wetness around him. Now his Fire Master friends seemed able to go without rest longer while his own stamina was reduced to what his body could provide on its own – which wasn't bad, but he had rather liked the added edge that his mastery had given him.

It wasn't something to dwell on, though. He had come out to scout farther ahead and around today, because something that he couldn't quite place was making him feel uneasy, and while he wouldn't have admitted to acting on nothing but a queasy feeling, he knew he wouldn't find any rest before he had convinced himself first-hand that there was nothing amiss.

He was doing so sans Harry Smith, who had been summoned to a meeting – presumably to talk about the promotion that had not taken place yet due to Barnard's intervention.

Soon he would have to turn back if he wanted to return to Vera before nightfall, and he still hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary at all.

Shaking his head about himself, Colborne came to a decision: he would ride up to the crest of the next ridge, hoping to get a better view from there, and then head home. If he told Harry, who by then would hopefully have the promise of promotion, they would probably laugh about the whole thing.

He smelled it before he saw it.

Smoke was heavy in the air – so heavy that it didn't take him long to realise that he must be perceiving it partially through his magic. He reinforced his shields, and the stifling feeling lifted somewhat.

Still, smoke meant fire, and a lot of smoke meant a big fire.

Reaching the top of the rise he was on, Colborne didn't have to strain to find the source of that smoke. Dark billows rose from a slope not too far from the one he was on.

The wind shifted, and he thought he could feel the heat of the flames eating their way through the dry forest at an alarming speed. He coughed in spite of knowing that there could not be enough smoke in the air to choke him yet.

Without thinking, he extended his magic towards the flames. Maybe the total absence of water caused by the fire would tell him just how fast the inferno was spreading.

The shock of touching the violently raw magic of his antagonist element roaring along with the flame sent him reeling in the saddle, fighting to keep from being overwhelmed. For a moment, it felt as if the fire was already on him, tearing at his clothes, eating into his skin to leave him screaming in agony. His left hand jerked on the reins, turning his horse away from the danger, as he spurred the animal forward to put more distance between them and the fire.

His mount, made nervous by the smell of fire already, surged into motion instantly, seizing the bit and racing back down the hill at breakneck speed, leaving Colborne only the choice to cling on for dear life, bent low over the long neck, or be swept from the saddle.

By the time he had regained control of his horse, the assault of the raw Fire magic on his mind had lessened, though he could still acutely feel the pressure at his back, advancing on him and gaining speed.

With horror, he realised that there was no break in the forest between here and Vera, no cloud in the sky that might herald rain to help put out that fire. If it was allowed to continue, it would eat its way all the way to the camp, destroying everything in its path.

He had to reach the Fire Masters somehow, had to let them know they had to do something—

He tried to call one of his undines to send her as a messenger, hoping that he would be able to get her to talk to Harry Smith, at least, in spite of his affiliation.

Nothing happened. He strained his mind, reaching out as far as he dared, all too aware that making contact with the power in that fire again might well prove fatal for him if the impact toppled him from the saddle.

There was no Water Elemental within reach, nothing to react to even his most desperate of calls.

His horse swerved suddenly, and he had to let go of the magic and focus on staying on.

A quick glance back showed him the first tongues of flame licking at the trees in sight behind him. The heat at his back was very real now, his horse beyond his control in spite of his efforts to keep him from breaking both their necks.

It was a race they were going to lose, as he realised quickly.

For a short while, it felt as if the animal's hooves hardly touched the ground as he raced through the forest, avoiding trees by margins so narrow that Colborne wanted to squeeze his eyes shut against the sight, the fire in hot pursuit. With a jolt of terror, Colborne realised that that was, in fact, what was happening. There were _things_ in that fire, and they were coming after him, like wild water elementals would target a Fire Master caught in a flood, as he had been told by his teachers.

He almost slipped sideways out of the saddle as his horse threw himself into a narrow turn, then another one, before he galloped down a narrow, barren gorge.

At least there was nothing flammable around them now, Colborne thought with a surge of relief just before his horse shied and he found himself flying, then rolling on the ground to fetch up against the rock outcropping that had stopped their rush.

He lay dazed for a moment before he quickly picked himself up – only to find that his horse had already decided to save his own skin and dashed off back the way they had come.

He ran after him for a short distance, but soon had to realise that he stood no chance at all of catching him again as the pressure of raw Fire magic increased and drove him back towards the safer end of the canyon.

Flames were visible at the top of gorge to his left now. Not long and he would be surrounded.

The entrance to the canyon was blocked to him already. The stone at his back wasn't going to budge, and even if it hadn't been only a matter of minutes before the fire would come roaring up on the other side above him as well, he wouldn't have stood a chance to scale the rocky cliff up the side of his shelter with his useless right arm.

He was well and truly caught.

The thought drew a laugh from him, but it was a desperate one. What would he have done if he had been able to climb up the side of his prison? Try to outrace the flames on foot when he hadn't been able to do so on horseback?

He could feel the air grow hotter, even though it must still be comparably cool down where he was. As he looked up, he could see creatures in the flames, elementals much larger and wilder than anything he had seen before. They were beautiful, but theirs was a deathly beauty, and he wondered if anyone who had ever laid eyes on them had lived to tell the tale.

If nothing happened, if the wind didn't turn, if some miraculous deluge didn't pour from the blue skies and quench that fire, it would race on all the way across these hills, and eventually reach the area where his men were encamped, now no longer on the cleared heights of Santa Barbara, but on the hills they had only recently captured, surrounded by forest all around.

When would they notice the disaster rushing towards them? How close would it have to get before the Fire Masters felt it? Would they be able to do anything about it then?

Would they be able to do anything about it at all?

Colborne remembered one lesson that the Smiths had taught him early on, Harry and Tom alternating in the telling in a way that suggested they had held the lecture for many a younger sibling before. They had explained how he might be able to use his power to coax the larger elementals out of the sea, to cause a spring flood and swallow an entire village if he was of a mind to, but how it would never work the other way around.

Elemental powers at their fullest, once unleashed, be it by mage or by simple acts of nature, were too much for mere magic to stop.

They’d have to abandon their current posts then, retreat to a safer area – and the sooner the better.

He might not have any way out of his current predicament, but he could at least send them a warning.

 _Sylphia!_ he called the Sylph that had joined the circle of his companions, casting out his magical senses trying to find her.

All he could feel was Fire, a deafening roar in his ears, burning against his magic, making him feel as if he were about to melt any moment – and promising a pain that would make the treatment of his shoulder seem like a walk in the park on a pleasant spring day.

"Sylphia!" He called her name at the top of his lungs, which admittedly wasn't what it usually would have been, since every breath was now laden with smoke. It shouldn't have been that bad, not yet!

Either the Sylph couldn't hear him any more than he could find her, or she had no intention to brave that firestorm to come to him. He didn't even bother to try to call one of his undines again. There was much too much fire around, and even the air held hardly a drop of water that he could have used anymore.

On the off chance that the more powerful elemental, apparently still somewhat bound to him by his father's old command, would be more likely to hear him, he called for the djinni as well – but to no avail.

Something he couldn't identify leapt out of the flames at the top of the gorge and came plunging at him, all hard beak and razor-sharp claws, looking like an eagle sketched in flame and trailing fire much like Harry's phoenixes but infinitely more potent – and definitely a different breed of bird.

He realised just in time that it was coming at him – for him – and threw all that he had into his shields, hoping that they would hold.

The impact made him flinch and try to recoil from the heat.

They parted, the elemental returning to the heights, and Colborne slapped at his jacket, where either some sparks had made it through the shield, or the heat had caused the fabric to smoulder.

Never had he wished more to have Fire Magic instead of Water – if he had, he would have been able to reach out to Harry Smith, maybe even to use the fire all around him as an amplifier, and scream a warning into his mind.

As it was, the only way he could have done that would have been if they had been close enough to touch – physical contact, as he had first seen with Cadoux, enabled them to overcome the difference in element. He was quite glad, that Harry was not even remotely near enough for that, though. That would have meant that he was caught there with him, waiting for certain death – or would a Fire Master simply stand in the inferno, let it wash over him and come out of it none the worse for wear?

It didn't matter, because he wasn’t a fire master, and he knew that his imminent death there was no question of his imminent death. He had to use the short time that remained to him to get a warning through somehow.

If they had had another Water Master with them…

Benoit came to his mind, as well as young Pablo – one a Frenchman, the other only a child, not fully trained yet and not expected to be any stronger than an average Mage even at the height of his power.

Still, those two were his best chance of getting a message through.

He focused, mentally yelling his message across the distance, hoping that it would be heard but knowing that it fell short.

Maybe if he extended his reach as far as he could – but the searing pain when he brushed the fury of his antagonist element broke all concentration and shattered the line he had tried to build.

Somehow there had to be a way to penetrate that fire before the air became so thick with smoke that it was impossible to breathe.

The solution hit him so hard that for a moment he wondered just how badly the smoke and the fire were affecting him.

He might not be able to reach Water or Air, but if he could convince Alexander that he needed to run to Harry and tell him—

That was when, with a sinking heart, Colborne realised that he was alone.

It appeared that in the face of the torrent of flame all around him, the Salamander had finally come to realise that his place was not by the side of a Water Master.

Hoping that he was merely hiding somewhere, Colborne called for his little friend.

There was no more of a reaction than there had been when he had tried to call the Air elementals.

Alexander was gone, and he was left on his own, at the mercy of the hungry elementals that were now crouching above him, waiting for the moment in which his shields would flicker so they could come and devour him.

His would not be the death of going to sleep from lack of air and never waking again, Colborne realised. The moment his mind faltered, and the shields with it, those elementals would be upon him. With nothing of Water to tie them to, any shield he put up would only be as good as his focus was.

Defeated, he dropped to his knees on the ground, burying his face in his hands.

Silent tears trickled down his face as he wept, not for himself, not even for his wife, widowed before she had even truly been married, but for the men, women and children who would die with him, and who might have been able to save themselves if he had been able to get out that warning. Would he have been able to do more if he had had proper training? If he hadn't just gone on muddling along with his magic and hoped that it was enough?

How many people would die before the day was out? Officers and soldiers on both sides, civilians…

Would the Fire elementals content themselves with the prey they had, or would they go after the few others affiliated with Water in the area? They surely didn't know the difference between an adult and soldier and a mere boy…

Something hot insinuated itself under his shield, not yet enough to burn him.

Just as he resolved to get back on his feet and at least face his impending death standing and proudly, he felt a gentle touch on his cheek, a feathery caress brushing away his tears.

Blinking, he turned his head to look and found himself meeting the concerned eyes of a Salamander – his Salamander –, his tongue flicking in and out as he licked at the wetness on his friend's face.

 _Safe_ , Alexander said in his mind.

With a forced, tight-lipped smile, Colborne shook his head. "No, not safe. Alexander, listen – I need you to—"

 _Safe_ _!_ , the Elemental repeated more insistently. _Look_.

Colborne looked, just in time to scramble backwards until his back was pressed against the stone face of the cliff at the sight of a mass of fire pouring into the ravine from above.

It might be safe for Alexander, but there was no way he could stand against that!

The cloud of flame hit the bottom running, resolving itself into discernible shapes as it loped towards Colborne.

He couldn't even try to beg Alexander to go and talk to Harry again – the magnificent sight of the huge Elemental took away all thought for the moment.

Instead of pouncing on him, though, he stopped just short of touching Colborne's shields. The heat rolling off of him made him feel as if in a baking oven. His shirt was already clinging to his body with sweat.

 _This is a Water Master, little brother_ , the creature stated, his voice a roar in Colborne's mind that made him physically flinch.

Alexander snuggled closer, as if trying to comfort him. _Mine_ , he stated _Friend._

With the words came a rush of wordless information, made up of images and feelings.

_A Salamander cowering in fear as magic lashed down on him like a whip, threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he should have reported back, but that was exactly the reaction he had been afraid of if he reported back with news his Master didn't like._

_Just as he felt himself starting to break under the magical whip, a new presence entered the room, hardly penetrating the haze of fear and pain at first, but then making itself felt quite keenly as a cool, sharp blade of blue and green sliced through the bond that tied him to his master._

_He scurried off but remained, hidden where he hoped he wouldn't be seen, to gather enough strength to make his escape from the camp. It gave him time to watch his rescuer face down his former master._

_He was a Water Master, which was confusing, because Water Masters had no business with Fire Elementals, usually. He was wearing a coat of fire, though, and he had the hair to match, adding yellow to the bright red. With the immense power of Water Magic pooling all around the man, he appeared to the Salamander's sight almost as bright as a Dragon - but a Dragon of Water._

_Who, if not a Dragon, the most powerful of the Elementals, would be able to protect him, at the other end of the range of power?_

That was followed by a quick sequence of shorter flashes, of the Salamander's renewed fear when Colborne had tried to send him away, the happy warmth caused by his gratitude for the Salamander's soothing effect on his shoulder and, eventually, the sense of something more, of being different, unique, not just one Salamander among many to be used and dismissed at the Master's whim, that came with the awarding of a name.

Reaching out with one hand to run a finger along the gleaming length of the Salamander's back, Colborne smiled down at his companion.

 _Why?_ The larger elemental – the Dragon – roared in Colborne's mind. _Why did you step in for a lesser Elemental of your antagonist element?_

Colborne almost laughed at that. The world around them was burning, and they were discussing his motives for stepping between Skerrett and his Elemental.

"I saw a creature in distress and I had the means to end it. There wasn't much consideration involved," he answered

 _You are hiding your thoughts._ Where the Dragon's voice had been uncomfortable before for sheer volume alone, it had now acquired a cutting edge that hurt.

"Out of habit only." Colborne quickly dropped the shield that kept his thoughts from leaking.

He felt the Dragon crowd in the moment he did so, delving into his mind and probing his thoughts, leaving behind a lingering soreness like a slight burn that had just stopped being acutely painful.

 _Drop your other shields_ , the Dragon demanded.

Colborne hesitated. He was only going to make it easier for the huge Elemental to do with him whatever Fire Elementals of his size did when they caught themselves a Water Master.

It wouldn't make much difference, of course – that Dragon could break through his shields any time if he wanted to – but he had no wish to make it any easier for him.

 _Safe_ , Alexander breathed into his mind, the much lower voice as clear as the Dragon's roar and showing Colborne that he was not going to go magically deaf being yelled at like that.

Oddly, he believed his Salamander friend, even though all he knew, all he could see, told him otherwise.

His shields collapsed with a brief thought, and he knelt unprotected before the flaming shape, feeling quite naked and vulnerable.

The Dragon exhaled, a cloud of pure flame spewing from its nostrils and muzzle to engulf Colborne.

He steeled himself for the agony of burning, and gasped in surprise when it never happened. It was hot, for sure, but it wasn't searing. Even his clothes didn't catch on fire.

Like a gust of hot desert wind, it blew through his hair and down his back, drying his sweat but leaving him unharmed.

From the corner of his eye, he could see another fiery shape separate from the inferno above and glide down towards them, stopping a respectful distance from the Dragon.

 _Take my protection then, Water Master_ , the Dragon's voice boomed in his mind again. _And take good care of my little brother there._

Alexander enthusiastically rubbed his muzzle against the side of Colborne's neck, his excitement raising his heat to where Colborne feared that the Salamander would succeed in doing what the Dragon's flame had not.

He wasn't quite sure of what had just happened, but he had an idea that he would have the time to find out. He must have still been half-dazed by the entire experience, for he heard himself speak when he was quite certain he had had no intention of doing so.

"Sir Dragon, if you wouldn't mind, I need to get a message to my friend Harry – Harry Smith, he's a Fire Master – to warn him of the forest-fire heading their way. They've got to get the people to safety. I'm sure those Elementals up there don't mean harm, but--"

Realising that he was babbling, he broke off and bit his lip. Had he just really suggested that the most powerful Fire Elemental he had ever seen – and would ever see in his life, he hoped – go and play his messenger?

Luckily, the Dragon did not seem to take offence. Instead, he threw back his head and roared with laughter that made Colborne want to clap his hands over his ears, in spite of knowing fully well that the sound was not physical, and covering his physical ears would do nothing to lessen it.

He could feel Alexander glower at the Dragon.

_This is very important to you, then?_

Colborne nodded. "There is nothing that could be more important to me right now." That was the truth. Even if, by some trick of the magic the Dragon had just put on him, he would survive, everyone else was still going to face that firestorm without protection. Even without any idea of how long their conversation had actually taken, he had to at least try.

The Dragon sighed as he turned away with the lithe movements of a reptile that had basked enough to absorb as much sun as it could hold. _Very well then,_ he said over his shoulder, walking away at a measured pace until he had reached a point in the gorge wide enough to spread his wings. _I will take my brethren home with me._

With that, he launched into the air, the hot wind beaten down by his start buffeting Colborne and nearly sweeping Alexander off of his shoulder.

A moment later, he was gone. His immense presence removed from Colborne's mind left behind a silence so complete that it took the man a few seconds to realise that the physical world around him had fallen silent as well.

Glancing up, he saw the blackened ruins of trees looming above him, not even the dull red of smouldering fires remaining in them.

Colborne frowned. "He just put out a _forest fire?_ " he asked of no one in particular.

 _He's a Dragon_ , Alexander answered, awe clear in his voice, as if that explained everything.

"Well, I didn't know he could do that," Colborne said defensively, noting with interest that the Salamander was, apparently, capable of speaking in complete sentences when he felt like it.

He climbed to his feet and dusted off his uniform as far as he could before sparing a glance to determine the position of the sun. He had a long hike in front of him to return to Vera.

As he stepped away from the rock and started walking towards the mouth of his canyon, his eyes found one last gleam of fire after all. It appeared to have only waited for an invitation, for the moment he focused on it, it came closer.

This was a Phoenix, there was no doubt of it. It was built according to the same basic principle as the ones that protected Harry Smith and many of the other Fire Masters. Still, there was something different about this Elemental, and it was not size alone – though there was that, as well.

This Phoenix compared to those that Harry had like a wild eagle would to a hunting falcon bred to the task for generations and tame from spending all of its life around humans.

"Did the Dragon forget you?" Colborne asked as the fiery bird stopped just shy of arm's reach.

 _Yours!_ Alexander piped up.

Ah, so a Dragon might warrant an entire sentence, but nothing else did. The thought almost made Colborne chuckle.

"I didn't mean you, Alexander. I know you're my friend. I meant the Phoenix there."

 _Yours!_ Alexander repeated.

Confused, Colborne looked from the Salamander to the Phoenix, who gracefully dipped his head in a suggestion of a nod.

 _We serve you, Water Dragon_ , the Phoenix' voice sounded in Colborne's mind, not as painfully loud as the Dragon's but much richer than that of Alexander – or even any of his Undines. For a moment, Colborne found himself wondering what it would be like to meet a Water Elemental of this calibre. The experience had to be grand. He wasn't sure what he thought of the new title that had apparently been bestowed on him.

_We protect._

Ignoring the fact that the Elemental seemed to be speaking of itself in the plural, Colborne pointed vaguely in the direction of Vera. "I think we better get going. We have a long walk ahead of us."

The Phoenix didn't favour that with an answer. Instead, he merely sailed into position at Colborne's side, much like Harry's Phoenixes tended to when needed.

Colborne started walking, wincing slightly as bruises from his earlier fall made themselves known. This was not going to be a comfortable journey, but it would be nothing compared to getting out of bed the next morning – of that he was certain.

He laughed at himself. Only minutes ago, he had expected to be burnt to a cinder and not live to even see the next morning – and here he was, complaining about bruises. They were going to be quite impressive bruises, though, judging by the way they felt already.

They hadn't gone far when a whinny drew his attention, and he looked around to see his horse race up through the charred forest, another Phoenix in pursuit, beak snapping at the animal's flanks when it veered off the direct path towards Colborne.

The Elemental let off when he spied Colborne, fluttering aside to hover beside his mate and leaving Colborne to catch the horse on his own.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Colborne wasn't sure what he had expected to find upon his return, but it certainly was not the kind of welcome he was given when he finally arrived back in Vera well after the sun had set.

The moment was out of the saddle, Juana Smith launched herself at him like a little whirlwind, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tight.

He drew in a sharp breath as she put her arm on a bruise from his earlier fall on the rocky ground.

She didn't seem to notice. "Oh Colborne, dear Colborne, you're back and you're unharmed!" She tightened her grip on him again before releasing him to the sound of her husband clearing his throat.

"I hope I get that kind of welcome if I ever come in late like that," Harry commented.

Juana whipped around and glared at him. "You," she said sharply. "Are a Fire Master, and I expect you to be able to handle some Fire in your way. He, however, is a Water Master and Fire would —what are you staring at, Enrique?"

Harry's mouth had fallen open as his eyes remained fixed on a point somewhere behind Juana – and Colborne.

Colborne took the opportunity to fully extricate himself from his friend's wife and cast a quick glance back to make sure that his suspicion of what had caused Harry's reaction was correct.

Sure enough, the Phoenixes in all their glory had just floated into view. On the way back, he had had to ask them to keep some distance. His horse, still spooked by the fiery experience and the Phoenix chasing him back towards Colborne, had not taken kindly to his new protectors and put up a fuss that had acquainted Colborne with the ground a few more times before he had determined the distance at which it was safe for them to follow.

"Stop staring, Smith," Colborne ordered. "You look like you've never seen a phoenix before."

"Not one like that," Harry admitted. "Not following a Water Master in any case."

He shook himself, tearing his gaze away from the fiery birds that stopped at a respectful distance – just when Colborne's horse started shuffling his feet nervously again.

"I need to get him to the stables," Colborne announced, using the excuse to avoid any further questions about his most recent acquisitions.

Juana stepped forward. "Enrique will take him," she announced. "Colborne, won't you come inside with me? It was quite an exciting day here."

She put a hand on his arm as she spoke, pushing him towards the cottage he lived in.

Harry reached for the reins, and Colborne surrendered them with a wry smile and a shake of his head. Apparently the two had their own ideas about what course of action to take from here on.

Since he didn’t have any better idea, he went along with it. Harry certainly could handle a horse.

Colborne let Juana usher him inside and into his bedroom, where he offered her a chair and sat on the edge of his bed himself.

She remained standing, looking down at him with a severe expression on her face and holding out one hand. "Your coat."

He glanced down at himself. He hadn’t realised his coat had taken that much damage.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, though singed in places and with a new tear in the seam over his shoulder – the left one this time. He usually tore the right side while trying to get his clothes on over his stiff shoulder these days.

"You don't have to do this for me, you know," he said as Juana took his coat. "I can have my servant fix it."

"Nonsense!" The young woman brushed off the red cloth and hung the garment over the back of his chair. "He'll make a mess of it. I'll do this later. Shirt now."

"Excuse me?" He couldn’t have heard quite right. Granted, his shirt had acquired some minor burn holes as well, but patching it up could surely wait until he had bathed and changed – on his own. He couldn't very well undress in the presence of his friend's wife alone!

"Take off your shirt," she repeated. "So I can see how bad it is."

"It's just a bit singed," he insisted, pointing at the darkened spots on his sleeve and a sprinkling of small holes on the front.

The sound Juana made bordered on not being very ladylike. "I meant you, not the shirt."

"Me?" She couldn't be serious.

"You," she confirmed, coming closer. "You're hurt worse than your shirt lets on, or you wouldn't have winced so when I hugged you. Now if you please?"

He sighed. "Will you believe me if I tell you it was just surprise? I didn't expect to be greeted quite so enthusiastically."

Juana smiled, but she shook her head in a concise, controlled movement. "The shirt."

Colborne marvelled at how he felt outnumbered by a girl of fifteen years, even as he found himself obeying and unbuttoning his shirt left-handedly.

He started to shrug out of it, wincing again as the closer-fitting garment required him to move in ways that pulled on fresh bruises painfully.

The woman came closer still, reaching out to help. She had just put her hand on his collar when the door opened to admit her husband.

Quickly pulling his shirt closed again, Colborne shot an apologetic glance at his friend. "This is not what it looks like, Harry!"

Harry laughed out loud. "What does it look like?" he wanted to know, approaching them while Juana tugged on his shirt against the hand that held it in place. At this rate they were going to tear it for good.

"Stop resisting," the younger man advised. "Juana usually gets her way."

Colborne's hand dropped into his lap as he stared at Smith. "What about your promotion?" he wanted to know.

"Nothing, really." Harry sounded nonchalant. "I'm informed that I can get it if I serve in a different brigade."

That was too bad. Colborne hated to lose Harry Smith, but if that was how things stood, there was no way around it. He wanted the man to receive the promotion he deserved. He certainly wasn't going to prevent him from getting it just so he could keep is brigade major.

"Congratulations, then, Major Smith!" Colborne said with a smile that he hoped was convincing.

"It's Captain Smith," Harry corrected him. "And Captain Smith it will remain. Ouch!" he had just caught sight of the bruises that mottled Colborne's upper body, some plainly visible, some of those from the most recent falls still darkening. Falling off of one's horse in a forest, with plenty of old tree roots to hit, was not something he would generally recommend to anyone.

He frowned at Smith. "What do you mean?"

"He means we're not leaving," Juana elaborated as she expertly pulled the shirt off completely and set it aside.

"But the promotion—" Colborne followed Harry's line of sight and studied his own injuries for a moment. "This looks worse than it feels."

"I'll be promoted eventually," Harry pointed out. "Until then, I'll stay with you and learn from you. Unless you think you have nothing left to teach me."

As they talked, Juana poured water from the pitcher left for Colborne to wash up with into a dish and, wetting a corner of a towel, started wiping soot from Colborne's back where it had mingled with his sweat and left dark tracks on is skin.

"I can do that, Juana," Colborne pointed out.

"Only if you undress all the way and go lie in a bathtub," the woman returned, continuing to go about her work.

"Give up, Colborne," Harry threw in with a chuckle. "You're not going to win this one."

The older man favoured him with a glare. "You should reconsider the part about the promotion, Smith. Take the chance that offers itself."

"Not to be made your rank, Colonel," Harry returned. He, too, approached Colborne now, crouching down before him to study the bruises running up his side. "These look nasty." He reached out with one hand, carefully just-not-touching. "May I?"

"You're going to whether I say so or not, so go ahead," Colborne sighed and submitted to the examination. A surgeon's son, Harry had a better understanding of human anatomy than most of his fellow officers. With the added experience from the times he volunteered to help with the wounded, he certainly could be trusted to tell if an injury required medical attention or not.

Colborne tried not to flinch when Harry prodded at a particularly tender area.

"What did you do?" Smith wanted to know. "Get yourself kicked in the ribs by someone?"

"Horse dropped me on a tree root," Colborne admitted. "He doesn't get along all that well with the Phoenixes. Smith, that promotion--"

Juana put aside the water and reached for Colborne's arm to inspect one of the burns. They were superficial, the skin not even blistered. They would still make themselves noticed well enough the next day with a shirt chafing on them, though, and Colborne was not looking forward to that. "Give it up, dear," she repeated her husband's earlier advice. "You're not going to win this one either. We're staying. Did the Phoenixes give you those burns?"

Resigning himself to not having the last say on Harry's promotion after all, Colborne shook his head. "No, something else did. It was larger and… a lot more aggressive. Nothing I'd seen before."

"I don't think you broke anything there, Colonel," Harry announced finally. "You'll still be sore for a while, though. Where did you get those Phoenixes anyway? You're a Water Master – you're not supposed to go around attracting Fire Elementals."

"They stayed around when the fire went away," Colborne tried a vague explanation. "I think they're a gift."

At those words, Alexander blinked into view on top of Colborne's jacket, nodding his head emphatically even though only Colborne could see him at that moment.

"So there was a fire after all," a new voice sounded from the direction of the door.

Turning his head, Colborne saw his landlady standing in the doorframe, hands on her hips in a no-nonsense manner that wouldn't have been amiss if she'd been facing her son after he came home from what clearly had been an afternoon of very rough play. "Why didn't you tell me you're hurt when you first came in?"

"It's not that bad!" Colborne defended himself. "I'll be fine by morning!" Stiff and sore was what he would most likely be by morning, but he didn't have to admit to that to anyone but himself.

"Maybe you should borrow one of Wellington's elementals for that," Juana suggested helpfully. "No offence to Alexander, but cold will be more comfortable than heat on those injuries."

"Maybe he should just let the Earth Master handle that," María Alvarez announced and crossed the room to push Harry aside and take his place.

Colborne stared at the three of them in turn. "I'll be _fine_ and I don't need anyone to handle anything! Why does no one seem to care about that?"

"Because it's not true," all three of them answered as one.

He gave up. He was too badly outnumbered anyway. Technically, he assumed, he could have ordered Smith to back off at least, seeing how he clearly outranked him – unless Smith in turn remembered that Elemental magic had been involved in getting him injured, since Smith still technically was his teacher and thus probably outranked him where magic was concerned…

It seemed more prudent to simply suffer their ministrations in silence and pay them back at a later time when the opportunity arose.

María Alvarez clucked her tongue at the sight of his bruises and held out her hand, stopping just short of touching him. "Shields down, Water Master," she ordered.

For the second time that day, he obeyed, though this time it was easier to do. He didn't need to be afraid his landlady would roast him in front of the Smiths after all.

He was rewarded for his obedience as a stream of soothing magic poured into him, slowly dulling the ache until it first receded to easily ignored background noise and then went away entirely. Lowering his eyes, he watched the bruises reverse direction, lightening instead of darkening, and seeping from his skin as if they were being gradually bleached out.

"Thank you," he told the woman when she rocked back onto her heels from where she had knelt before him to get back to her feet. "Even though it wasn't necessary."

"Nonsense," she shot back immediately. "You were in pain and leaving a guest of ours in pain upsets my elementals. I don't like it when my elementals are upset."

Colborne filed that information away. "I didn’t know you were a … healer."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "All Earth Masters can heal," she hurried to explain. "At least small things like that. It's part of our powers, and it really doesn’t take much learning. Now, what happened to that fire?"

"Yes," Juana chimed in. "What happened to that fire? We were all on the brink of a panic because it felt like we had a huge fire approaching – one that was quite out of control."

"And quite afraid for you, I might add," Harry said in a chiding tone. "Until we realised that if anything had happened to you, at least Alexander would have let us know. Probably."

"I'm sorry," Colborne said, somewhat sheepishly. "I didn't mean to ride into a forest fire like that. It just somehow… happened."

"Somehow," Harry confirmed drily. "And somehow you acquired two wild Phoenixes that'd be quite a feat even for a Fire Master to tame along the way – but they follow you like puppies."

Now how to explain that? 'They were a gift from a Dragon that Alexander fetched to save me from the fire in return for saving him from Skerrett', while summing the situation up nicely, didn't seem quite enough.

Luckily, Harry did with what he always did with the ensuing silence – he filled it by talking right on. "Also, what's a Water Dragon? My Salamanders have been chattering about it for hours."

Colborne choked on nothing and felt himself blush.

"Oh yes," Juana agreed as she took up Colborne's shirt again to inspect the damage, running her fingers along the cloth and stretching it out flat to gauge the size of the burns. "I thought maybe they were talking about a Sea Serpent at first, but what would a Serpent do on dry land, and in the direction of a forest fire to boot? They usually only live in the deepest oceans, and it takes a very strong Water Master to call one. Maybe you could, one day, with proper training and lots of practice… But surely even then you wouldn't be able to do so this far away from the sea."

While most of that wasn't exactly very flattering, it was still preferable to discussing the matter of the Water Dragon. "I didn't call anything," Colborne declared, quite truthfully. "And I didn't see anything that looked like a Water Dragon either."

That, too, wasn't a lie. He hadn't even glanced into a mirror since his return.

"Well, whatever it is," Harry said. "It sounds kind of dangerous. Dragons are big, powerful things – I'd not want to run afoul of one, really."

Colborne almost snorted. After all, he had just returned from an impromptu meeting with one. He sighed. Was there any point in trying to keep what had happened to himself? Sooner or later he'd have to explain how he got his new protectors anyway. "If I told you a Dragon saved me from that forest fire, put out the fire and left me those two Phoenixes as a parting gift, would you believe me?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise as his mouth hung open for a second.

The image of a speechless Harry Smith was surreal enough to draw a chuckle from Colborne.

Juana and María Alvarez were staring as well, but the women's looks had a more focused quality to them. Colborne knew that look. They were studying him through their magical sight, making no effort to hide it since there were only Masters in the room anyway.

"I think I do," the younger man decided after another moment. "I don't know how you did it or why, but it's too crazy to be made up. And really, if anyone could do it then you—"

"Shut up and look at him, Enrique!" Juana interrupted her husband before he could derail into babbling.

Harry's eyes snapped into focus, then went wide again.

Colborne stared down at himself, trying to see what they did. He was just starting to think that he needed to go have a look at the Water Dragon in the mirror after all, when Juana spoke again.

"You're marked by Fire."

"I assume you don't mean the burns," Colborne ventured carefully, rubbing a finger over one on his arm that had been a bit deeper than the others and was still in the process of healing, though it continued to do so at an amazing rate as he was watching.

"Indeed she doesn't." Harry seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. "It's like you've acquired an Alliance with Fire, but not with any Master's mark on it – it's all raw, pure magic. As if Fire itself decided you were a worthy ally."

"Or a Dragon," Colborne's landlady threw in. "But that's as close to the same thing as makes hardly any difference." She looked at Colborne with awe in her eyes that made him want to squirm. "I've never heard of this happening to a Water Master."

"Neither have I," Juana agreed. "And it's not a true Alliance. Some Fire Masters have been known to acquire this kind of bond – it strengthens their powers, enables them to do some things that they wouldn't otherwise be able to do even as Masters. But you're not a Fire Master! I have no idea what _you_ will be able to do with it."

Shrugging one shoulder, Colborne got up to find a fresh shirt. He needed to do something, and getting dressed properly again was as good an option as any other that presented itself. "I assume I'll find out. We've been muddling along with my magic so far, what difference does it make if we have something more to figure out?"

Juana didn't look all that convinced, but Harry didn't seem to be concerned. "You're certainly unique, Colonel," he pointed out with a grin. "I like it. It's fun. But I'd really like to know what that Water Dragon is."

His commanding officer favoured him with a hint of a smile. "Maybe you'll meet one someday. Let me know if you do?"

Judging by Harry's grimace, the younger man wasn't sure at all whether he wanted to meet the Water equivalent of a Dragon.

Alexander, however, seemed to feel quite strongly about the matter. With a jump only an Elemental could manage, he returned onto Colborne's shoulder, in plain view of everyone, and rubbed his muzzle against the man's cheek.

 _Water Dragon_ , he stated quite clearly, broadcasting the words to all present. _Mine._


	21. Chapter 21

November came, and with it the weather took a turn to the cold and wet again.

Once, Colborne would have minded the wet more than the cold. Now, he found that the more his powers over Water grew, the less it bothered him. It wasn't that he no longer felt it, but it had turned from a nuisance into something he could shrug off easily.

In fact, he suspected that as he continued to improve his Mastery, he would even welcome rain like this at some point. Already, he could feel his powers gaining an extra edge by the increased amount of water around him.

It was easy for him to see the Water Magic everywhere now, no longer even requiring a conscious shift of attention. Instead it had become as automatic as looking to the side if he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

He didn't notice his newfound affiliation with Fire much, except for the two Phoenixes hovering around him wherever he went. They stayed behind far enough to not startle his mount, but he could feel their presence in the back of his mind even if he could not see them.

They never entered a building with him, though, and he was thankful for that. There simply were too many flammable things in buildings, and he did not want to learn what precisely they thought their protection entailed in a situation where a fiery overreaction could easily set a building aflame.

One distinctive change that his little misadventure with the forest fire had brought about had happened in Alexander.

While the Salamander was still wont to scurry for cover under Colborne's clothes if anything unexpected happened, he came out again much sooner than before, and he had not taken refuge in the deeper layers of his friend's garments once since then.

Many days, he rode on Colborne's shoulder openly when he and Harry went scouting and combing the ground between their picquets and those of the French, taking careful note of every detail of the terrain.

There would be another battle between the French and British in this location before too long – they were sure of that.

While Colborne found Alexander's newfound confidence quite endearing, the same could not be said of Harry Smith's new habit of addressing him as "Water Dragon", whenever they were out of earshot of anyone not affiliated with Elemental Magic. It might have been less annoying, had they not spent quite so much time together away from the brigade.

Trying the same approach that kept Sylphia out of his bath except when he called for her to assist him, Colborne ignored it. In contrast to the Sylph, however, Harry Smith did not tire quickly of something if not given a sufficiently entertaining response.

The morning of the 8th of November dawned grey and wet. Colborne thought that his Phoenixes had a bit of a soggy look to them and for a moment even entertained the thought of inviting them into his tent the next night. They had given up their more comfortable lodgings in Vera to move into position on one of the ridges facing the current line of the French not long before. At least his tent was unlikely to catch fire as soaked as it was right now.

One of the biggest benefits of being a Water Master, Colborne had learned, was being able to keep water out of the place you were sleeping in. His tent may have looked as drenched as any other on the outside, but the inside was nice and dry, not the smallest puddle forming there.

Wet wood still was a problem, as his servant found every time he tried to light a fire.

Once, Colborne had offered to help and, after a moment's discussion, taken over the task himself.

That fire had burned within just a few seconds, and even the colonel wasn't entirely sure if that was because he had called the water out of the wood before trying to strike a spark, or if his new affiliation with Fire had had something to do with it.

The man's shocked look when the fire sprang up almost as soon as Colborne struck the first spark, however, had convinced him that it was not a good idea to repeat the procedure.

That morning, Colborne was greeted by a somewhat bedraggled-looking Harry Smith. His uniform was as dry as it could be, but there were traces of dried mud in his dark curls, making it look as if he had suddenly and prematurely acquired spots of grey overnight.

Colborne bit back a laugh at the sight.

"What happened to you?" he wanted to know.

Harry favoured him with a wry grin and jerked his head towards the area where he and Juana had spent the night.

"My dear wife was gifted a cottage last night," he explained. "It was the most wonderful thing, with an actual chimney and enough space to cook and eat and sleep like a King and Queen."

The exaggeration made Colborne grin. "And where did that grand accommodation come from all of a sudden?" he asked.

"Gilmour built it," Harry supplied quickly. He gave it to Juana, and we would have had the best night ever in it if it hadn't started to rain."

Eying the splotches in Harry's hair, Colborne started to put two and two together. Still, he asked: "Did that wondrous building not have a roof to keep out the rain?"

"Oh, it had a roof alright." The twinkle in Harry's eyes suggested that he knew fully well that his colonel had already caught on, but he’d still give both of them the fun of actually telling and hearing the whole story. "And we would have been safe and dry as can be, if the blasted thing hadn't been made of mud." A giggle escaped Harry, and Colborne raised one hand to his face to conceal his smirk.

"The first torrent of rain brought down the roof, and then the walls, and right on top of our wonderful bed, of course." He was laughing as he remembered the scene now, his words coming in spurts in between. "You should – you should have seen Juana, all covered in mud as if she'd just come in from a mud-fight with my youngest brothers! I reckon I didn't look any better myself! I don't think I've laughed as hard as last night since I left my family's place!"

It took a few more moments for him to stop laughing at the memory. "I think we'll stick to sleeping in the tent in future, though," he finally added. "I don't need a repeat of that. Maybe you could use that kind of cottage, though, Colonel! I'm sure the Water Dragon could keep it dry and safe no matter the storm!"

Thank you, Smith, for reminding me of that abominable nickname again, Colborne thought, hard, wondering if he could project the thought into Harry's mind through his new Fire bond.

Either he couldn't, or he hadn’t figured out the technique yet, or Harry chose to be polite and ignore a thought that had apparently escaped his shields.

In any case, he did not reply to it, instead pointing at the expanse of mountain range that lay before him. "Shall we, Colonel?"

*

Later that day, Wellington himself came out to them, looking over their position and that of the French, discussing matters of imminent importance at length and returning to observe the enemy through his spyglass. If he had noticed Colborne's Fire mark, he had given no indication of it. Considering that it was Wellington, he most likely had noticed it, though.

They were in position at the top of a ridge, staying low to the ground to avoid being seen.

Wellington put down his spyglass and looked at Colborne, who had propped himself up on one arm next to him.

Colborne felt quite awkward between the other officers. They all had crawled into position, of course, but this manner of moving had become somewhat more difficult for him since his injury. Really, a stiff shoulder made itself noticed in the most unpleasant ways in unexpected moments.

"They think they're going to hold those lines," Wellington said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "They think we don't stand a chance against them. They'll learn better soon enough. We'll have them out of there quite easily."

Until that moment, Colborne would have been tempted to agree with the French. He and Harry had examined their lines thoroughly every day for the last week or so. The fortifications they had put up and were still working on were daunting.

"Of course we will beat them," he ventured, since Wellington seemed to be waiting for an answer from him. "But whether it's going to be easy…"

Wellington displayed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Ah, Colborne – so it would seem, if you know only what you can see from up here. They've gone to all that effort and put up fortifications all over the place – but they don't have near enough men to keep them. They'll have to keep their forces spread out there. We have enough men for a concentrated attack in a few select places, but they can't pull theirs together to defend those spots – else they'd leave other stretches entirely undefended. No, Colborne – we have them, and they won't give us a lot of trouble either."

"I see," the younger officer returned, still sounding and looking a little doubtful.

Instead of favouring that with a reply, Wellington turned the other way and started talking to the man on his other side in a low voice, suggesting that he wasn't intending for his words to be heard by everyone else around.

The other men started to scuttle backwards, trying to give him the privacy he seemed to desire, and to get back to ground low enough so they could stand without danger.

"Where do you think you're going?" Wellington interrupted his monologue. "You stay right here."

Colborne stopped, settling down again. On his other side, Harry Smith put down his crossed arms on the damp ground and rested his head on them. "While the Field Marshal is belly-down in the mud, it doesn't do for any of us lesser mortals to try to rise," he whispered with amusement in his voice, so softly that Colborne marvelled at the fact that he could understand him.

Several minutes later, the detailed plans for the attack were read out to them all. Everyone was listening attentively, while Wellington put his spyglass up again and once again observed the points he was planning to attack.

"We will attack at dawn," Wellington decided once everyone had been given the opportunity to consider his plans briefly. If the Light Division moves into position in the night so that the attack can commence at first light, we'll also have the element of surprise on our side. This way, we should be able to ensure our success with the least casualties."

In turn, the generals present studied the sketches and nodded. Colborne waited his turn, though he had no need to look at them to know where his men were and where they had to go.

"I can't use any road," he said when everyone seemed to be waiting for his input. "But it's not going to be a problem. Smith here and I have studied the ground well – we can lead the brigade where it has to go, even at night.

Wellington gave a sharp nod. "Then all's settled. We attack on the morning of the tenth. Make sure everyone is in position when the command is given."

They crept back as carefully as they had come to this exposed location, straightening only when they were far enough down the slope to be concealed from enemy sight.

As the generals left, Colborne found himself under the uncomfortably close scrutiny of Field Marshal Wellington.

"Colborne, a word with you," Wellington said when he saw that he had the other man's undivided attention.

It was phrased politely enough, but it was nevertheless clearly a command. Acknowledging the statement, Colborne inclined his head to indicate where they would be unlikely to be overheard.

The two men walked slowly, side by side, leaving Harry Smith and the other men nearby behind. To the unsuspecting onlooker, it must have seemed as if they were about to have the most amicable of conversations. Their postures were almost identical, with Wellington's hands clasped behind his back where the younger man's remained at his sides.

Colborne would have liked to mirror the Field Marshal in that. It would have reduced his desire to fidget. Wellington surely wasn't planning to merely inquire about his health, or that of his wife, or anything equally unspectacular.

In the best case, Colborne assumed, he was going to be told that Wellington had come to a decision about who'd be put in charge of the brigade permanently.

In the worst – he didn't know what the worst case would be, or lead to, but he suspected that it might be somehow connected with his recent adventure with the Dragon. It must have come to Wellington's attention by now – the man was notoriously well-informed – and even if it had not, he probably had not missed the mark the Dragon had left on him.

"So," Wellington remarked once they were out of earshot of anyone not affiliated with elemental magic. "I hear you have acquired Phoenixes."

He didn't sound angry at least. "Yes, Sir." Colborne was not about to divulge the precise details of the matter unless asked expressly.

"Phoenixes, Colborne?" Now the older man sounded like he was talking about a particularly stupid prank – the degree of stupid that one found hard to believe had actually happened.

Colborne half-turned his head and pointed to where his protectors were hovering at a safe distance with his left hand. "Phoenixes. Two of them."

" _Wild_ Phoenixes?" Wellington made each word into a sentence of his own. "Really, Colborne, you're supposed to be a Water Master. Water Masters don't tame Phoenixes. What'd you do? Pluck them from a volcano?"

"A forest fire, Sir," Colborne corrected. "And I didn't 'pluck' them from it, they were offered as a gift – a gift that I believe it would not have been advisable to reject."

Wellington sighed, turning his gaze from the Phoenixes and back to Colborne. "Do you at least have them under control?"

"I believe that I do," Colborne answered.

"You believe?" While he didn't spell it out, Wellington's thoughts were quite clear. _Not good enough._

"Sir, I have not had the opportunity to test it yet. They remain within reach while I am outdoors, but they respect my request not to follow me inside. You see, I believe they are a little too much of a fire-hazard to enter a building…"

Wellington snorted.

"They don't run – or fly – off, they wait for me. They keep a distance from my horse if I ask them to, though we have been working on getting them closer. It is clearly their wish to shield me in battle, and they cannot do that if they spook my mount. So far they are reacting to a request wonderfully. I have had no need to try and command them yet." Actually, he had only once had any need to command any of his Elementals, no matter how he had acquired them. That one time had been when his undines had been intent on getting back at Skerrett for him.

"Will they come with you the day after tomorrow?" the Field Marshal wanted to know.

Colborne thought about it for a moment. "It would be unwise not to use a shield like that if I have it," he ventured eventually. "Though if you believe that it would be safer for everyone, I will ask them to stay behind."

Wellington was silent for a moment. Colborne assumed that he was mentally going over the same things that he was. The Fire Masters' Phoenixes that routinely went into battle with them didn't cause any problems with anyone else's horses. There probably was no reason for Colborne's to do so if they were as disciplined in staying close to him. Were they, though?

Steeling himself for what was to come, Colborne considered his options. Maybe Wellington would demand proof of his control over the Fire Elementals, like he had tested his Water skills the day he had cancelled his banishment before it had even begun. How would he go about that? Colborne silently berated himself for simply letting the Phoenixes hover after him with a few requested restrictions instead of actually trying out his hold over them and establishing exactly how far his control of them went. He hadn't even asked either of the Smiths or anyone else what they did with theirs in or outside of battle. Did the Phoenixes simply know what to do? Did they have to be told? Did they have to be shown? He should have sat one – or several – of his teachers down and gotten all the details the moment he had returned with the two new Elementals in tow.

Of course it could be assumed that if there had been anything special to consider, his teachers would have told him of their own accord. Then again, it would be just like Harry Smith to neglect to remember a minor detail like that.

Juana, on the other hand, probably would not.

Unless, that was, she thought that Harry had already done the telling.

Either way, the moment Wellington let him off the hook here, he was going to grab whatever Smith he found first and get it over with.

"They're not my Phoenixes," Wellington finally answered. "They're yours, and what they do or don't do is your responsibility. Masters do not interfere with each other's Elementals, in spite of your little stunt with the Salamander."

So he hadn't forgotten just how Colborne had acquired Alexander – or Alexander Colborne.

"Use your own judgement, Master."

Colborne nodded, not bothering to suppress a small smile. "Yes, Sir." If he was reading the older man correctly, Wellington had just decided to accept his rank as a Master beyond the courtesy title he had addressed him by a few times before based on the sheer power of his magic, even unharnessed as it had initially been, and more than half laden with scorn.

He dearly hoped that Wellington was right. He certainly wasn’t feeling like he had earned the right to the title in terms of skill yet.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Harry was unusually quiet when he joined Colborne on the night before the attack was scheduled.

Instead of his usual exuberant self, he exhibited a degree of restraint that, while prudent on a night like this, was far enough out of the ordinary to put Colborne ill at ease from observing it.

As they were waiting for all the men to move into position for their night's march, the Colonel steered his horse close to Harry's.

Instead of his usual charger, the younger man was mounted on a smaller brown mare that ignored both Harry's and Colborne's phoenixes admirably.

Colborne's own horse tolerated the Elementals now, as long as they didn't actually touch him. He had made sure of that the day before, calling them gradually closer as he was riding and scouting, until the phoenixes were hovering close enough to protect him, their orange and red feathers streaming behind him like a fiery cloak. Still, it was an uneasy truce on the horse's side, and Colborne was ready to send the Phoenixes back to the rear if it turned out that his mount was not going to take their presence without complaint any longer.

"Anything wrong, Smith?" Colborne wanted to know.

Harry shook his head. "No, Sir," he claimed.

Colborne waited. Whenever a stretch of silence ensued, Harry seemed to consider it his obligation to fill it.

As usual, the approach worked.

"You're looking at someone doomed to die, Colonel," he explained. "Either I or my horse – one of us isn't going to get through tomorrow's attacks alive."

Colborne's eyebrows went up. "Have you suddenly become a fortune-teller, Smith?" he asked.

Harry offered a slight smile. "No, Sir." After a moment's pause, he continued. "Juana has a small amount of foresight. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of the future in the flames. The talent isn't very strong in her and she never put the effort into it to develop it into something more – this kind of thing is unreliable at the best of times, you see. It's really worth the time it takes to learn if you're still not going to get an answer half of the time or more. But she told me when I was saying goodbye to her earlier that one of us was going to be killed."

Once, Colborne would have shrugged the information off as superstition.

Once, he had not been a Water Master, nicknamed the Water Dragon, companion to a Salamander, two Phoenixes, a Sylph, watched over by a supremely annoying djinni and with an ever-increasing following of Undines and Naiads.

Now that he was all of that, he did not discard the principle of glimpsing the future in the flames of a fire as easily.

"She's a pretty horse," he finally said. "Too bad you're going to have to replace her tomorrow."

He'd refuse to believe that Harry was going to be the one who lay dead at the end of their battle. It had to be the horse.

Smith's smile widened until he seemed almost back to his usual cheerful self. "I'll find another one I guess," he answered. "At least she'll have some excitement in her final hours."

With that, he turned his mare and rode off to make sure that everyone was ready to go.

*

They moved through the night slowly, avoiding the road that snaked around in twists and turns and instead took the direct route, cross-country, to reach their post. Both Colborne and Harry knew every rock and tree in the area like the backs of their hands. They had broken up the distance they had to travel into shorter legs, and took them one by one.

While Colborne waited for the men to catch up, Harry would scout ahead, making sure they weren't going to meet any unpleasant surprises on the way.

Colborne would follow, leading the men forward before he sent Harry on to the next spot.

According to Colborne's calculation, they were going to save as much as five hours' march on his route, giving their brigade the advantage of going into the battle much better rested.

The night was dark, though, as nights in the mountains tended to be. They were moving slowly and carefully. Broken legs happened too easily in mountain country, both to men and horses.

They had come about halfway, when Colborne heard the sounds of a horse approaching at high speed.

He turned his own mount to face the approaching rider.

"Colonel!" The man sounded as out of breath as if he had just run up carrying his horse instead of vice versa. "Colonel, one of the captains is leading his company right into the French lines!"

 _And you're coming to tell me that instead of going to him to show him where he has to go?_ Colborne thought. There was no point in saying it out loud. The deed was done, and worse needed to be prevented right away.

As he gave orders to his men to wait for him and spurred his horse to a gallop through a darkness the moonlight barely seemed to penetrate, he wished for a brief moment that he had taken the long way around after all, risking fatiguing his men but preventing anything like this from happening. He'd never forgive himself if his shortcut led to the French being alerted early because he had taken his brigade too close to the enemy lines and a stray company had blundered right into them.

Neither, he was sure, would Wellington.

Had the errant captain been a Master or even Mage himself, Colborne would likely have been able to send him a message via Elemental. Alexander's brethren had been happy enough to carry messages for him recently, and between them and his undines, he was able to communicate with almost any Master or Mage he might need to talk with.

As things were, the fastest way to convey the message was to actually make an appearance and talk to the man. He couldn't afford to waste the minutes it might take to explain what needed to be said, and to whom to someone else.

The red coat of his uniform was relatively clearly visible even in the darkness, and his approach did not remain unnoticed.

The marching men slowed, some of them apparently realising that if they were going in the right direction, then _he_ was coming from the wrong one.

"Captain!" Colborne gave his horse's reins a hard tug, and the animal stopped almost on the spot. "You're leading your men right into the enemy. Come – turn them and we'll get them back where they're supposed to be."

While the Captain was still apologising, a familiar spot of heat appeared on Colborne's shoulder.

 _Is everything alright?_ , the Salamander hissed into his ear. His voice was stronger than that of Colborne's friend, more confident even after the recent improvement in Alexander's self-assurance.

Colborne could identify his new guest as one of Harry's Elementals easily. He had seen this one often, tending the campfire for Harry, carrying messages and, more recently, keeping Harry's feet warm when his boots were soaked through.

 _Now it is_ , Colborne told it without speaking. _Please go and tell Smith I've taken care of it and will rejoin him shortly. He's to wait for me before moving the men onwards._

The Salamander blinked out of view without acknowledging the request.

They always did that, though they invariably did what he asked. Still, he was only a Water Master to them, though one marked as a friend of Fire by a Dragon, and nicknamed for that largest Fire Elemental that he knew of. They didn't pay him the same courtesy that they did their own masters.

Colborne didn't mind. He wasn't sure if he would dare use a Fire Elemental to send a message to a Master of another Element, but his messages to those of Fire had always arrived so far, and there was no reason why this one should not.

He led the company back where it was supposed to be, going more slowly than he had to do to avoid accidents that might alert the French – much closer to their current location than he was comfortable with – of their presence.

Finally, the stray men safely back in place, the Colonel returned to his position at the head of his column.

Harry Smith was waiting for him impatiently. It was impossible to miss that the younger man had only been kept from riding after Colborne by Tom Fane, who had put his horse close to Harry's and effectively blocked his path, keeping him from doing anything rash.

"So eager to spring to action, Smith?" Colborne asked with slight amusement in his voice.

The Captain visibly collected himself. "I just don't like you riding off on you own, Colonel," he confessed. "What if you'd been captured?"

"I wasn't captured, though," Colborne returned. "And if I had been, you still would have had the knowledge to take our men where they need to go. Now, if we'd both been captured…" He left the sentence hanging unfinished, letting Harry imagine their brigade blundering through the dark, not knowing where they were or where they would get to their destination from here.

"I understand." Smith's voice was somewhat subdued, though Colborne was certain that wouldn't last for long.

"Go and scout ahead to make sure the next leg of our route is clear," the older man ordered. "And hurry – I think some of the men are of half a mind to bivouac here because we've left them standing so long."

Smith grinned, showing a set of teeth gleaming brightly in the moonlight. "Yes, Sir." With a quick tug at his reins, he wheeled his little mare and trotted away.

*

 

They reached their destination without further mishap. While most of the men were using the opportunity to rest a little before the upcoming battle, Colborne and Harry rode along their lines, making sure one last time that everyone was in place and knew what to do once the command to attack was given.

Returning to their own posts, they dismounted and settled down to get some rest themselves. They had a couple of hours left before daybreak, after all, and they were going to put them to good use.

In the blink of an eye, Harry draped a horde of Salamanders around himself to stay warm in the cold mountain night.

Colborne briefly wondered if he could do the same, using his new Alliance to ask for help. While Alexander was curled closely around his upper arm and shoulder, as usual, he felt the cold seeping out of the ground and into his body even through his coat.

He had just decided that the night before a battle was the wrong time to try, when he felt the approach of his Phoenixes.

There were almost as many Phoenixes around as there were Fire Masters now, blinking into sight one by one as their Masters called on them to come and help them out in the hours to come.

Colborne hadn't called his own yet, though he was never sure if they came to his call at all, or rather when they felt he needed them.

They went away at his request, though, and that mattered more.

Reluctant to use human names for creatures so obviously wild as these two, he had named them Flambeau and Torche, giving in to his feeling that they were a couple. They had not divulged their feelings about being given names to him yet, and he doubted that they ever would, but it didn't feel right to leave them nameless when every other Elemental that kept his company was named.

Now Torche, the Phoenix he thought of as female, came walking up to where he had bedded down.

He watched her through half-closed eyes as she came closer, as regally elegant on the ground as she was in the air – a stark contrast to most real birds, which were doomed to hop or waddle the moment they touched ground, no matter how majestic a view they presented when airborne.

With a soft coo, the phoenix shook out her feathers before settling down close to Colborne, spreading her wings as if mantling over a chick.

"Thank you," Colborne whispered as the heat, just low enough to remain comfortable, spread through him, countering the waves of cold coming up from below him. He turned on his side, still marvelling at how soft the Phoenix's fire-feathers were, and dozed off.

He wasn't allowed to sleep for very long.

A musket-shot tore through the stillness of the night, startling his Phoenix guardian into flight and him to his feet.

Colborne was standing with his sword half-drawn before he realised that there was no attack, no enemy shot fired at them.

The shot, as it quickly became evident from the reactions of the men around him, had been fired by one of their own, an accident from careless handling of a musket.

For the first time in over a decade, Colborne lost his calm and cursed under his breath. They were too close to the enemy lines for that shot to go unnoticed. All the precautions they had taken, sneaking their soldiers into position under cover of the night, were going to be ruined by that one slip, that one moment when a single soldier had not been attentive enough.

He exchanged a look with Harry Smith, who had been dozing nearby and also been torn from his rest by the sound. Smith held his rifle at the ready and was already gesturing for his horse.

With frantic hand signs, Colborne signalled to him and the men to be still. If by some stroke of luck, they had not given themselves away, anything rash they did might still do so.

 _I need the Masters to know they've got to keep their men calm and silent_ , Colborne thought frantically at any Salamander that night be hovering nearby. There had to be any number of them, with the regiment's Fire Masters and Mages.

He never saw them, but the quiet that descended over them suggested that his message had been received by enough and passed on to the rest.

They waited with baited breath, listening hard for anything to suggest that the French were on the move.

Nothing happened.

After a few minutes of anxious expectation, Colborne crossed the short distance to where his brigade major and aide de camp were camped, and let himself drop to the ground next to them. He barely resisted the urge to wipe sweat from his forehead in relief that nothing had happened.

"Stupid," Harry hissed between his teeth, keeping his voice low. "I'll kill that man if I find out who it was! He almost ruined it all."

Colborne sighed. "Peace, Smith. Nothing happened, and we need all our men come morning."

"What if it happens again?" the younger man wanted to know. He wasn't calmed that easily.

That was something Colborne didn't want to think about, though he knew the risk was very real. He glanced at his pocket watch. "It's maybe an hour to dawn," he observed. "Let's just pray that it doesn't."

Smith favoured him with a glare for a moment, then curled back up to make use of the remaining time, though Colborne doubted that there was a lot of praying going on in his head.

*

They were lucky. There was no sound that was loud enough to alert the French anymore, and daybreak saw them as ready as they could ever be.

As the officers and soldiers formed up to start their advance, Colborne extended his magical senses towards the small river that cut its way through the rocky slope below them.

He had not missed any opportunity to have a word with the undines and naiads that lived in that river during their scouting. By now, he knew most of them by sight and feel, and while they were not close enough to him to be named, they were sufficiently intrigued by this foreign Water Master with his foreign ways and his abundance of hardly-used power that they were eager to help when asked.

Up to now, he had not done so, merely commending them on their beautiful home and their quick wit, flattering and praising where he could.

Now he extended a request to them.

 _I need to get my men to the other side of your river_ , he told them. _I know there are a few Fire Masters among them, but I need them to cross as well. Please, excuse the intrusion and let them pass?_

It wasn't, strictly speaking, necessary. The river was shallow enough not to pose any danger, even to a Fire Mage. Still, Colborne could just about imagine the number of men slipping and falling head-first into the water. He wanted to avoid attacking with his men wet and embarrassed if he could.

The Elementals giggled in his mind. _We won't harm your Fire friends, Master,_ they promised. _Even though it would be fun._

Colborne sent a mental image of a French uniform at them. _If any of these come your way, feel free to play with them any way you like_ , he offered. _They are not under my protection._

 _Ooooh…_ , the Undines breathed in his mind. _But they are under that of the other Master._

The other Master?

Calling himself all kinds of fool, Colborne extended his magic farther, feeling for traces of another man's Water Magic.

Sure enough, there it was – familiar enough to be recognised almost like an old friend already.

 _Benoit is not in charge here_. Colborne tried hard to sound confident. _I am, and I say you may play with the men wearing that uniform._

Another inaudible giggle sprang up in his mind. _Very well, Water Dragon_ , a single voice confirmed. _We shall do as you ask._

Wonderful – so now his own Element was calling him by that name as well.

Unwilling to spare the matter of his unasked for title any more thought, however, Colborne waved his men forward to descend the slope and cross the water, at the same time feeding power drawn from the river into the collective _look elsewhere_ shield his Masters had spanned across the length of their front lines. Large as it had to be, it wasn't going to be very strong, serving only to deflect the eyes of those not expecting them to be there at all.

While Colborne hoped that this kind of thing would never fool his own men – who, as he had seen just the night before as he had checked their own positions after arriving at their destination, were ready to expect the French anywhere at any time – he hoped just as well that the enemy was less cautious and perceptive.

The river was strewn with rocks large enough to protrude from the waves, providing a series of stepping stones that many men chose to use. Almost miraculously, they remained dry for as long as the brigade took to cross, not a single man slipping or tripping on them in the process.

Later, not a few of those who were wading through the water instead of using the stepping stones would swear that somehow, invisible hands had seemed to steady them if they threatened to lose their footing on the soft, squishy river bed.

Safely arrived on the other side, the men spread out along the bank of the river, following its course where it curved around.

By the time the sun was fully up, they had half-circled the French position ahead of them, advancing on it confidently and much to the surprise of the enemy as the English Masters dropped the flimsy shield they had held and focused on their attack.

 


	23. Chapter 23

For a fleeting moment, Colborne almost felt bad about having the "look elsewhere" shield on his men as they stormed the French position. Their enemy was so utterly unprepared for them that, at first, they did not meet any resistance to speak of at all.

On second thought, all they would have had to do was to have picquets who expected the enemy to approach no matter what. He knew that the shield would not have worked on someone actually expecting to see someone there. That they had come so close, unnoticed, suggested that someone – several people – on the other side had been lazy.

That was hardly his fault.

Initially restraining himself to the speed of his men, leading them towards their target, Colborne eventually gave his horse free rein. The animal surged forward, covering the remaining ground between them and the French position quickly.

His phoenixes were close by his side now, not crowding him in but shielding him.

The barrier that encircled the French camp – at least they had one – came up faster than Colborne had expected, and he felt his horse's muscles bunch under the saddle as he prepared to jump it. Even if Colborne had been able to pull at the reins properly with his right hand – his left was, after all, holding his sword to direct his men – there wouldn't have been any time to turn away.

All he could do was go along with the motion, and hope that he could sit out a jump that he wouldn't have chosen to try.

Colborne caught hold of a handful of mane as his horse went up, then did his best to move with the horse and prevent himself from toppling forward during the landing.

The moment he was firmly seated again, he looked around.

With some surprise, he noted that redcoats were pouring into the camp from all sides already, hardly opposed by the defenders, who were beating a hasty retreat, anymore. Wellington had, as usual, been right. There should have been a far bigger force here.

A moment later, Harry Smith was by Colborne's side again, grinning broadly as he waved his own sword.

"Nice jump, Water Dragon," he commented as he slowed his mare to the pace at which Colborne's hose was now circling the area while his rider made sure he hadn't missed anything important and was up to date on the status of fighting all around them. "We'll make a proper horseman of you yet."

"I think I'll pass," Colborne returned. "I'd rather stay an infantry man and not break my neck if it's all the same to you, Smith."

Harry laughed and stopped his horse, pointing with an outstretched hand, entirely comfortable on his mount even while his reins were merely looped over the front of his saddle. "There's some more French for us."

"There are indeed," Colborne agreed. "Get the men to form up again, and we'll take those as well."

Harry's grin widened another fraction. "Yes, Sir!" he confirmed and turned his horse without even reaching for the reins, leaving Colborne to mentally shake his head at him.

With the men lined up again, they advanced further.

From what Colborne could see from his elevated position on the slope, Wellington's troops were doing well all along the line of hills that ran down the Nivelle river.

Colborne's men proceeded with unbroken enthusiasm after the easy first victory that had left them in possession of a handful of prisoners as well as an entire camp of French tents, until their column suddenly stopped.

A branch of the river separated them from the main area of fighting now, separating the hill they were descending from the ground on which the French had posted their main line.

Colborne saw his men's movement falter, and turned to check out the area in front of them.

What must once have been a small, calm river meandering along between the hills had turned into a torrent of rushing water carrying along rocks and broken branches, threatening everyone who might dare set foot into it.

Extending his senses, Colborne felt Benoit's magic strongly in the water. The French Master wasn't going to let them pass without another magical fight, it appeared.

 _Hello, my friends_ , Colborne thought at the Elementals in the stream.

 _Hello, Water Dragon_ , they returned, giggling and never ceasing their game of tossing about any objects they could find.

 _Excuse me, but I need to take my men through here,_ he explained. _Could you maybe stop it for a short while? You can continue once we're all on the other side._

A wordless laugh bubbled in Colborne's mind.

Nothing else happened. The water continued to churn just as before.

 _Did you not hear me?_ Colborne asked.

The laughter increased in volume and gained several more voices. _We have permission from the Master_ , one told him, her tone just barely civil.

 _Just for a few minutes_ , the man asked them. _I promise I won't disturb your game any longer than it takes us to cross._

He almost clapped his hands over his ears against the responding roar. These Elementals were none that he had had the time to get acquainted with, living on the French side of the river as they were. Benoit, in contrast, probably had had all the time he could have wished to draw them onto his side. They knew and understood what he wanted them to do – needed them to do, because as the river was now, his men would have to walk downstream until they found a bridge or other means of crossing – and they refused. Their originally good-natured amusement at his request had acquired a distinctive edge. From laughing as they enjoyed their game, they had gone to laughing at him.

He didn't have the time for lengthy negotiations, though.

 _Let us pass._ He cut through the cacophony of Elemental sounds.

 _I think… not…_ , the response carried an unspoken warning, as close to malice as Colborne had ever seen any Water Elemental come.

He didn't have a great deal of experience with children trying their parents' limits, but he did have some with soldiers and their reactions to officers who continually changed their minds and did not care whether their orders were obeyed or not.

 _Oh yes_ , he thought at the river, trying to put a lot more confidence into the words than he felt. What if he could not overcome Benoit's 'permission' – or order – for them to play rough in the water? What if he tried and failed? Would it affect his standing with his own Undines and Naiads as well? Would he have to fight for their cooperation next?

He remembered the time he had had to spend most of his mental energy on keeping Skerrett out of harm's way. At that time, he had come to realise, one problem had been that his Elementals had not fully accepted him as a Master in charge of them yet. He had not had any trouble with disobedience for what felt like a long time, and it was not a situation he cared to return to.

 _You will let us pass. Move and clear the way!_ He sent it as a command, doing his best to imitate Wellington at his most fearsome as he projected the thought at the Elementals trying to thwart him.

To the unaided eye, there wasn’t much of a difference.

His magical sight, however, showed him the passage that formed, a stretch of river wide enough for three, maybe four men abreast, along which the Elementals lined up, leaving the centre bare of magic.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Colborne rode forward, sword raised and hoping that his horse would not put up a fuss over getting into the water.

A corner of his mind remained focused on the Undines, ready to slap at any one of them that started to put as much as a toe or fin out of place.

Harry rode next to him.

"Sir," the younger officer hissed, his voice low enough to be heard only by Colborne. "Sir, are you forgetting that most of us aren't Water Masters? You may be able to cross that, but we are not!"

"Yes, you are," Colborne returned as quietly, his jaw set firmly as he felt the pressure on his magic increase. "They'll let us pass. Including the Fire Masters."

Those words caused another uproar among the Elementals.

 _Stop that!_ Colborne soundlessly snapped at them, a hint of anger shining through.

The pressure eased almost instantly. Was this what it meant to Command an Elemental? He didn't have the time to ponder it. His horse stepped into the river, followed closely by Harry's, and they crossed walking side by side, the water lapping around the animals' legs but with all the debris floating in the water miraculously staying away from them.

"There." Colborne turned to his brigade major when they were back on dry ground. "See? They'll let us pass."

With a wave, he called for the other men to join them.

He watched the crossing until the last of his soldiers and officers had come through in twos and threes, even those without magic staying safely at the centre of his corridor.

The moment the last man reached the bank Colborne was waiting at, he released his hold on the Elementals. A large piece of rock that had been washed downriver impossibly rose to the surface and a little way beyond it before dropping back with a splash that sprayed droplets all over him and his horse.

Hoping that no one had actually seen the stone's revenge, Colborne rode away from the water’s edge quickly.

This time, they had not remained unnoticed. Far from becoming a problem, though, it worked to their advantage, the enemy having gotten one good look at the orderly lines of redcoats marching towards them after just having come across a river that previously had been perceived as uncrossable.

It wasn't too long before Colborne's men had finished their new task, rallying around Colborne and Smith again to await new orders.

Colborne looked around. There was some fighting still going on, but the last of the enemy's redoubts, well in Colborne's view, still stood untouched.

He contemplated the structure, wondering if it would be wise to try and take a third position.

So far, the resistance had not been what it could have, and from the looks of it, the French were all but ready to abandon the rest of their posts along the Nivelle and retreat. His men weren't as exhausted yet as they could have been, having had the benefit of a shorter march and a longer rest than those with the other brigades involved in their operation.

While he was still considering his options, another rider pushed his way up the hill to Colborne's side. "Colonel Colborne," he called out, stopping his horse by the other man's side but never ceasing to fiddle with the reins, apparently eager to move on again. The horse danced in place, and Colborne involuntarily tightened his grip on his own reins a little.

"General Alten tells you to move on!"

Colborne's eyebrows went up as he looked from the fortification he had just considered to the rider next to him. "Move on?" He asked. "Do you mean we're to attack that redoubt? We can do that – I don't expect they'll put up much resistance. They must be aware that they'll be surrounded by our whole army before long."

The messenger shrugged. "Don't know about that, Sir. He just said you're to move on."

"Move on to where?" Colborne repeated. "Into that redoubt or past it?"

Another shrug as he took up his reins to wheel his horse. "You have orders to move on – that's all I know." With that, and without waiting for another request or clarification, he wheeled his mount and galloped away.

Colborne was left shaking his head. "Have you ever heard a vaguer order?" He asked Harry, whose eyes had been firmly set on the redoubt while they had talked.

"I say he meant for us to attack that place," Harry decided. "As you said, there's not much resistance to be expected, and it's the last of their works remaining. They don't stand a chance to hold it. Let's take it."

After another moment's consideration, Colborne gave a decisive nod. "It's probably what he meant," he agreed. "Let's get to it."

Their men lined up in their columns again, they approached the redoubt, confident that it would only be a few minutes before they were in possession of that position.

Soon, however, they were to find that they were quite mistaken.

The first shots from the French parapets seemed more lively than anything they had faced that day yet. As they approached, the fire greeting them did not relent. On the contrary, the French appeared determined to hold their last fortification for as long as they could – which, as far as they were concerned, preferably meant 'forever'.

Colborne saw the first of his men fall to the French muskets as they tried to storm the storm the fortification. The resistance they met did not seem to faze them much, though, and he let them continue, leading the charge while trying to keep his head low.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Smith was sitting proudly erect on his horse, apparently fully trusting in his Phoenixes to deflect whatever might come flying at him. Like Colborne's own, they were dashing back and forth to shield their master.

In contrast to the younger man, though, Colborne could not bring himself to simply ignore the steady enemy fire directed at them. He hardly had time to marvel at how the Phoenixes seemed to be everywhere while still leaving him a clear view of his surroundings. Flashes of gold and orange around him marked their passage where they flickered into view wherever they perceived a possible threat to him.

Did they know instinctively to fade out until and unless they were needed to allow him clear sight of the battlefield, or had they picked it up from their slightly smaller brethren with the brigade's Fire Masters? Colborne dearly hoped that Harry had known they would know what to do, and hadn't simply forgotten to inform him how to instruct his newfound protectors.

He felt his horse falter once as the ground started to shift under him, suddenly soaked. So Benoit was somewhere in that redoubt then?

He didn't have the time to go easy on the water his French colleague channelled into the soil here. His confidence boosted by knowing that he had been able to override Benoit's command at the river already, he spread out his mind, sending the water he found back to the river like a naughty schoolboy sent to bed without dinner – though he refrained from adding the flogging that had usually preceded such interventions when he had been the schoolboy in question.

Still, he put enough of the memory into his directions to suggest that he could do it if he wanted to.

They didn't need to know that he had no idea how – they merely needed to believe that he would. He'd probably have to find a way to make it up to them later if they remained in this location for much longer, but his men were more important than the tender feelings of the local Elementals right now.

The Fire Masters, he could see, were spreading their magic as well, working on what their French counterparts were throwing at them and burning up the Earth creatures that sprang up here and there, rarely at first, but then increasing in speed and size as more men fell and soaked the soil with their blood.

They were not going to prevail in their attempt to take the redoubt, and Colborne finally saw no other choice than to recall his men into the protection of a ravine where they could regroup and catch their breath for a while.

Smith stopped his horse next to him, cursing. "Never would have thought they'd put up such a fight," he declared. "And your friend Benoit isn't making things any easier. You shouldn't have given him back his magic, Colonel!"

From the mouth of the ravine, Colborne surveyed his brigade. They had suffered some losses, but all in all, his men were still in fighting shape, and eager to get back into the battle and carry that redoubt after all. Many seemed to consider the French resistance a personal insult to them now.

"Yes, I should have," he told his brigade-major. "There was no reason not to at the time, and there is none now. He uses his skills as we use ours – and we'll have that redoubt yet."

A grin split Smith's face. "I like that, Colonel!"

The second rush started much like the first, French muskets bellowing the moment they came into sight. Colborne approached at the head of his men, his Phoenixes increasingly frantic while his horse, luckily, did not seem to mind the situation they were in at all.

Harry, charging forward instead of staying with the men as Colborne was doing, was suddenly and violently stopped in his advance, his horse shying and rearing, leaving behind a spray of blood.

Was it Harry's or the mare's? Juana's premonition shot through Colborne's mind.

 _The horse, let it be the horse,_ he thought fervently, as if repeating it often enough could make it be true.

No matter how often he glanced in that direction, though, neither man nor horse got back to their feet.

Had her prediction been wrong after all, then? Someone would have to tell her. More precisely, _he_ would have to tell her. He couldn't afford to get distracted by that thought now.

Tom Fane, his aide de camp, jumped from his saddle close to Colborne to reduce the risk of being hit as well.

"Sir!" he called out, rushing to Colborne's side and seeming ready to grab his reins to pull him to safety. "Sir, get off! You're making too good a target up there!"

Hearing what he had already felt said out loud, Colborne found himself sliding to the ground faster than he could make a conscious decision to do so. He may have been well protected up there as well, but there really was no point in risking it. With Harry Smith down already – another glance up to where Harry's horse was lying motionless on the ground, blood spreading around her told him that Smith still hadn't moved – he couldn't even rely on someone else rallying the men for a final assault if he fell as well.

He watched, from the relative safety of the ground, as the attack wore on, without any sign of bearing fruit.

It was time to call his men back again, to retreat and see if they were still capable of a third attempt. Still, every failed attack would weaken their resolve, he knew that, and while they would be quite formidable even so, each subsequent attack would be harder on them, their losses accumulating.

There were too many men lying on the ground already, feeding those nasty Earth Elementals with blood and pain and fear.

The sooner they took that redoubt, the better.

He could see part of their army passing behind it, effectively surrounding it now.

Hoping that the French would see reason, Colborne was back in the saddle and off at a gallop before he was even properly seated, still fishing for the stirrup with his right foot as he took off across the field. The traces of Fire around him intensified as he wove across the stretch of hill between his former position and the ditch that surrounded the French fortification. To his men, it must have seemed as if he were dodging musket-balls, since both he and his horse were now reacting to the increasingly close appearances of the Phoenixes.

Waving his handkerchief again instead of his sword, Colborne pulled his horse to a halt close to the walls, finally gaining that second stirrup and straightening in the saddle.

"This is nonsense!" he shouted in French, hoping to be heard by the French commander. "You cannot possibly hold out much longer here. Stop this madness and surrender to us! You can see you're surrounded – The Spaniards are just moving in to your left!"

He could see by the jerks of several heads on the walls that his words had found more than one listener. The fear of the French of falling into Spanish hands was almost proverbial. Seeing the uniforms to match his claim just where he said they would be had to make surrendering to the British seem the preferable option.

"You will not speak to my men like that!" an angry French voice sounded from up above, and Colborne almost winced when he looked up to see Benoit appear on the wall, the magic surrounding him blazing with ill-concealed fury.

He had the right of it, of course. Addressing the enemy soldiers directly, enticing them to surrender, would have been a very inappropriate thing.

"I'm talking to you, Sir!" Colborne yelled back. "If your men hear me it's because I have to shout to make myself understood here. Let me in and we can discuss terms of your surrender!"

Two men appeared by Benoit's side, called by hand sign or magic, since both were shining with Master's shields as well – Air and Fire respectively. Their muskets were pointed carefully at Colborne.

"Retire, Sir!" Benoit commanded him. "Retire immediately or I'll have you shot!"

Colborne did not move. "Shoot me," he returned evenly, the need to yell lessened as the firing around him had quieted down considerably in response to his appeal. "And we'll put every man in there to the sword. Can't you see you have no choice, Sir?"

Like his French counterpart, Colborne did not use his name. No one needed to know that they had ever met under any other circumstances than on a battlefield.

"Open those gates and we'll talk," he added. "Without yelling at each other like this."

After another moment's hesitation, the muskets were withdrawn and the gate did open.

"Come inside then, Sir," Benoit invited him. "And we will talk."

Colborne rode forward, ridiculously feeling more exposed now than he had while riding up to the redoubt under fire.

Benoit came to meet him. With interest, he noted that the insignia on his uniform had changed. So the French Water Master had been promoted in the meantime.

His two Master Companions were standing on either side of him again, leaving Colborne sadly outnumbered. "I'll accept your surrender," he stated calmly, hoping that none of his unease showed.

Benoit gave a sharp laugh. "Is that what you call negotiation?" he asked.

Reaching into his pocket for paper and a pen, Colborne met the Frenchman's eyes levelly. "You have no choice anymore," he told him softly. "We have you closed in. You can surrender and keep your lives or fight to the last man – it doesn’t make a lot of a difference to me, but I'd choose the first if I were you."

He jotted down a few words on the paper.

Just as he considered dismounting to hand it over for Benoit to sign, a man came dashing through the still-open gate, his once green uniform nearly black with bloodstains, his hair matted to his scalp by the same liquid and his facial features almost obscured by congealing blood.

"Sorry Colonel," Harry Smith panted as he skidded to a halt next to Colborne. "I got trapped under my horse, and it took those useless scoundrels forever to come and pull me out. I'm ready again now."

Colborne couldn't help a grin at the sight, and he saw that the French officers were feeling likewise – though where his was borne of relief at Harry's appearance – blood-smeared but apparently well – theirs clearly were smirks over the dishevelled state he was in.

He handed down the note. "Hand that over, will you?" he told Harry, who glanced at it and promptly grew a grin of his own. "And sorry about your horse, Smith."

"Better her than me," Harry returned, walking over to where Benoit was standing to solemnly deliver Colborne's desire for an unconditional surrender. Producing a pen from his own pocket and hoping that the fall or the blood had not rendered it useless, he presented it with a flourish.

Benoit read the single sentence and his features darkened again.

Colborne felt, more than he saw, all three French Masters reaching for their power.

"Oh no, you won't!" he hissed at them, whipping up a weave of magic that he had been playing with since the incident with the Dragon. It might have been because his first attempts at using magic had been in this manner, but Colborne still found it easiest to use his magic in strands and woven sheets – this one, containing Water, Air and Fire, since he didn't dare touch the Earth magic around a battlefield – was thin enough to act as a blade, not unlike the sheet that he had used to free Alexander back in Skerrett's tent.

Shoving it forward, he deftly cut off the tendrils that were rising to the three men's command, interrupting their spells before they could take shape but without taking the time and effort he would have needed to encase each of them in a seal like the one he had once inadvertently left on Benoit.

His voice was deathly calm when he spoke again.

"Sign it."


	24. Chapter 24

They set up their new quarters just in front of the village of Arbonne. Colborne was less lucky with his billet this time around. With his hosts not among those skilled in the use of magic, he would have to be more careful how he handled his Elementals.

He realised quickly just how much he had gotten used to using his magic for small things when he knocked over a pitcher and almost called the water right back into it.

A sharp jab of Harry's elbow stopped him, and he turned to reprimand the younger man, stopping short when he saw the owner of the cottage they were in standing in the doorway.

Water defying the laws of gravity would not have been easy to explain – even if the man didn't have the slightest idea of physics, he had to know that water usually did not flow upwards.

Colborne threw a rag onto the spill instead, mopping up the water quickly and squeezing it back into the pitcher.

If he did so somewhat faster and somewhat more thoroughly than should have been possible, it surely remained unnoticed.

That little incident in mind, he paid close attention to what he was doing that night, catching himself almost automatically calling on his magic a few more times, and forcing himself to do things the regular way instead.

It wasn't a terrible hardship, really – not too long ago, he would never have thought of doing those things any other way.

Still, the clumsy, awkward way that some actions felt made him realise that he had been relying on his magic a bit too much instead of using his left hand for things that were made hard or impossible by his stiff right shoulder.

Since the baggage hadn't come up yet, they couldn't change for dinner. As far as Colborne was concerned, it wasn't too much of a problem – his uniform was somewhat sweaty but essentially still clean.

Harry, however, was another matter.

He had washed his mare's blood from his face, rinsed his hair, and tried to at least get the worst stains out of his jacket and shirt, though the latter had proven to be a hopeless task. Looking at the garment, Colborne doubted that even Juana would be able to salvage it.

Captain Smith appeared at their shared dinner table looking like he had come straight from a butcher's shop after a day of helping out there, earning a smirk from Tom Fane, who had, after all, seen him in that condition before, and a shocked, wide-eyed stare from Tom Smith, who had not.

Apparently unfazed by his appearance, Harry sat down with them and tucked in with a healthy appetite.

"My horse died," was all he had to say on the matter when his brother inquired about the condition of his uniform, far worse than anything helping out with the wounded could possibly account for. The next moment, he changed the subject and was chattering on about how he hoped that they would not end up spending Christmas in the field. Using the opportunity of a night spent away from his wife, since Juana was not expected to join them before the baggage did, he laid out his plans for how to surprise her with a special holiday, promptly enlisting his friends as well as his superior officer as co-conspirators.

Colborne grinned good-naturedly as Harry assigned him his tasks, not even bothering to ask if he cared to be part of his ploy.

"…and then I'll find a goose and we can fatten it and have a proper Christmas dinner…" Harry explained presently, punctuating his elaborations with bites from his meal.

"You'll never be able to hide a goose from Juana," Colborne cautioned.

"Oh, I won't even try! You see," Harry stabbed his fork in the air roughly in Colborne's direction. "She'll get to do the fattening, and I hope she'll be happy at the thought of a special meal and her part in getting it for all of us that she won't pay too much attention to the rest."

Colborne tried to scowl, though his face kept wanting to return to a smile. "Point that implement elsewhere, Smith, before I have you court-martialled for threatening a superior officer."

Harry laughed, stabbing his fork at his plate instead. "Yes, Colonel," he replied. "But you have to admit it's a good idea. The goose, I mean, not the stabbing!"

"I should hope not the stabbing!" Colborne laughed as he applied himself to emptying his own plate. "But knowing Juana, that goose will be on the table at Christmas alright – as a pet, with a plate of its own."

The younger man joined in with him. "Begging your pardon, Sir," he added. "But knowing _you_ , you'll be the first to agree with her."

*

Juana arrived early the next day, finding Harry so fast and surely that she had to be following a magical lead to him.

Her face darkened when she saw the state of his clothes.

"Oh, Enrique!" she exclaimed, rushing forward but stopping short of embracing him. "Where are you wounded?"

"Not at all," he returned, tired of having to repeat that sentence to everyone he met. "It's all my horse's blood."

His wife hesitated for a moment, then considering and eventually concluding that he must be right – after all, she had foreseen one death, and not one death and any injury to speak of.

"Why didn't you put on something clean?" Juana demanded, her hands firmly on her hips. "You could have at least made sure that I can greet you properly without ruining my dress!"

Harry looked away for a moment as he controlled his features. "Because you had all my spare clothes with you, my love," he explained when he was certain that he could do so without laughing. "And they do not run ahead of the train on their own. I shall remedy the situation right away, though – I can't wait to get out of these things."

"You could have been more careful!" Juana told him as he undressed and took the shirt she brought out for him. She scowled at the uniform he had just discarded as if it had personally affronted her. "This is ruined. We will never be able to wash this out!"

Buttoning his fresh shirt, Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry about that. The horse insisted on bleeding on me. She was most adamant about it, and since I was lying under her, I couldn't move away very well."

He shrugged into his jacket and closed it up as he was already walking to the door.

The new information brought concern back to Juana's face. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Just a few bruises," Harry told her light-heartedly. "You've given me worse when you've been angry with me."

His wife bristled. "I have not!" she insisted. "I would never—"

She didn't get to delve any deeper into the subject since Harry was already pushing past her and out of the door to his cottage, ready to find Colborne and determine whether he had any immediate orders for him.

Juana followed on his heel, too happy to have him back in one piece to let him go out of her sight that easily.

They hadn't gone far when a familiar, though entirely unexpected, face appeared in their path.

A young man wearing the riflemen's uniform, his collar slightly askew but in a way that gave him a jaunty rather than a dishevelled look, was just getting off of his horse, looping the reins loosely around a fence and spinning on his heel, apparently looking for someone or something.

"Johnny Kincaid!" Harry called over, waving his hand high above his head. "Figure seeing you here! What brings you?"

"You," Kincaid replied, striding over to them quickly and giving an accurate little bow to Juana. "Mrs Smith," he stated with mock formality as he kissed her hand. "Beautiful as ever. I say, that scoundrel of yours does not deserve you in the least."

Harry playfully swatted at Kincaid's head as Juana giggled.

"Oh Johnny," she told him. "I know! But I love him so much!"

"And I pine for you every night that I spend cold and lonely," Kincaid assured her, a grin creeping onto his face.

Her giggles turned to laughter. "Those aren't very many, I am sure."

"Maybe," he allowed. "But I make up for the small number on those that are there."

The joyful banter would have surely continued for a while if Colborne hadn't picked that moment to pass them.

"Why, Kincaid," he called out. "Did you lose your brigade?"

"No, Sir Water Dragon," Kincaid returned. "As a matter of fact, I was looking for Harry here. He's needed."

Colborne's face darkened. "Is there anyone in the army who hasn't heard of that abominable nickname yet?"

Kincaid seemed to consider that for a moment. "Among the Masters and Mages, probably not," he answered finally. "Opinions differ widely on it, you see. Some few believe it's quite improper for a Water Master to ally himself with his Antagonist Element, some just can't be bothered to care, but most are really impressed and think it's a bloody darn great feat of magic that you did – also, I would think of it rather like a rank or title than a nickname. Sir."

"I didn't need to know in that much detail," Colborne informed him. "And I'm certain that there is no such rank in Wellington's army, and I'm not part of any other, so it can't be that. Title or nickname, it's not one I care to hear in public. I have no desire to try to explain it to someone without any knowledge of Elementals."

"Yes, Sir," Kincaid said obediently. "But it's such a pretty title. You can't help but wonder what a Water Dragon would look like, really. Would it be—"

"Captain Kincaid!" Colborne interrupted him sharply. "Change of subject. Now!"

"Yes, Sir," the man so reproached answered without losing a beat and entirely unimpressed by the Colonel's sharper tone. "I have to take Harry back to Vera with me, Sir."

Harry's surprised face made clear that it was the first that he had heard of that.

"Is that so?" Colborne asked.

"Indeed," Kincaid said, shaking his head to dislodge a stray lock from his face. "You need to let him go - George Simmons sends for him."

"I need to let my brigade major go to Vera because Lieutenant Simmons sends for him?" Colborne asked, but he was smiling as he spoke.

Kincaid scowled and visibly sorted his thoughts. "Colonel Barnard was hit in the fighting yesterday – the shot pierced his lung but he is reasonably well and reasonably comfortable right now. However, if the wound is left as it is, he will surely suffer from inflammation and possibly worse. He has put himself in Simmons' care, but it won't be much help, because Simmons isn't much of a Mage to speak of, and surely not of Fire. Harry's the Master who's best at burning a wound clean, so begging your pardon Sir, but you've got to let him go."

Ah, so Kincaid could put his cause convincingly even if it wasn't a young woman he was talking to and the cause at hand was not getting her to warm his bed.

Colborne looked at Harry, who, without asking any further questions, was quite eager to leave and had started fidgeting in place as he always did when getting impatient.

"As a matter of fact," the Colonel said, "I already was of half a mind to ride to Vera anyway. So we might just as well all ride together – if Captain Kincaid doesn't object to the company." The last was accompanied by a wink in the younger man's direction, who returned a wide grin.

"Of course not, Colonel! When can we leave? I think Simmons said that speed was important."

Harry aimed another swat at Kincaid's head, this time actually connecting. "Speed's important and you waste time flirting with my wife? Off with you, Johnny, get back on your horse! We'll be mounted and off in a second. We'll have the most wonderful ride - you should have seen the Colonel jump that wall the French had put up yesterday! It was beautiful, I tell you!"

Colborne's face darkened a shade. "Smith, what exactly are you going to ride _on_?" He asked. If Harry kept embarrassing him, he could as well try to pay him back in kind – though it was very hard to embarrass Harry Smith. "Has your Old Chap miraculously recovered overnight, or are you going to steal Tiny from your wife?"

After a moment of apparent confusion, Harry made a face. In the heat of the moment, eager to get going, he had all but forgotten that his mare had been shot, and the reason he had been on her to begin with had been Old Chap's bad condition.

He looked at Juana, but her firmly set face suggested immediately that even asking her for Tiny was a bad idea.

"I'll ask Tom Fane if I can borrow his horse again," he decided and ran off, calling over his shoulder "Don't wait for me, just get saddled up and go, I'll catch up!"

"You heard the man," Colborne said. "Let's saddle up and wait for him, at least."

*

They rode into Vera at a brisk trot and split up once they left their horses, Colborne heading towards where he suspected Wellington to be while the others followed Kincaid.

Barnard had been placed in a billeted room away from the other injured. The extra cot in one corner of the room suggested that Simmons was sharing the room to be at his Colonel's side at a moment's notice any time of the day or night.

Presently, George Simmons was sitting in a chair by Barnard's bed, scribbling away at a letter while his patient dozed.

He looked up when the door opened, smiling at the three who entered.

"Should we come back later?" Harry asked, his voice uncharacteristically low as he saw the patient had his eyes closed and seemed to be resting comparatively comfortably.

"No, do come in," Simmons declined, gesturing for them to step closer. "I'd rather have this done as soon as possible."

Putting aside his writing, he reached out to touch Barnard's arm.

The Colonel opened his eyes and frowned at his visitors. "Did you need to show up in full force like that?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

"Should you be talking with a shot in your lung?" Harry returned, drawing on information Kincaid had shared with them on the ride over.

Barnard's lips twitched. "It's not _that_ bad."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but I'd like to ascertain that for myself." Harry stepped closer and looked expectantly at Simmons.

"Have you suddenly turned surgeon, Smith?" Barnard sounded a little sharper now than he had before.

Harry gave him his typical carefree smile. "No, Sir, just a surgeon's son with some little experience in this job. If I'm to deal with whatever sources of inflammation that ball carried into your body, I need to know what I'm dealing with."

The patient looked at Simons. "Is this really necessary, Lieutenant?"

The surgeon-turned-rifleman nodded. "Yes, Sir. That is, if you want to maximise the chance at a quick recovery, it is. Smith knows what he's doing, really. I had him work on my own wound, too."

"And you're still limping from it," Barnard pointed out wryly.

"Because the ball broke my femur," Simmons returned. "That had nothing to do with Harry's work."

Harry smiled, refraining from mentioning that Simmons had mostly relied on salt water to keep his wound clean, and only resorted to the far more painful application of his Fire magic once, when he felt that it was no longer enough.

Juana gave Barnard a reassuring smile. "It'll only take a few seconds, Colonel," she promised. "I've seen my Enrique do this many times. He never goes wrong, and he never misses anything."

Barnard closed his eyes, resignation registering clearly on his face for a moment. "Do what you have to do," he sighed. He did seem somewhat uneasy as Simmons pulled away the blanket, exposing a bandage wound tightly around the older officer's torso, padded for extra pressure on one side of his chest, where a small blood stain marked the site of the wound.

"Do you have no one—" Barnard started, then broke off.

"My Enrique is the best you can get," Juana assured him quickly, reaching for his hand to offer some comfort. "And he would never let your impossible behaviour about his promotion interfere with this kind of job, I assure you – even though you would deserve it!"

Simmons turned his face away as Harry sharply cleared his throat and Kincaid didn't quite manage to suppress a chuckle. Barnard's expression clearly suggested that he had been thinking precisely that.

"You were right – it wouldn't have been proper for me to be promoted over the heads of so many others," Harry stated lightly. One of his hands hovered over the area of the blood stain, and his face showed the rare focused expression that he always did when probing a wound.

After a few moments of silence, he withdrew his hand. "I can do it," he announced. "It's a bit tricky because the Fire really shouldn't hurt your lung any more than it already is, but it's nothing I can't handle. We'll have to hold you down, though – this is not going to be a pleasant experience, and there's nothing I can do to help that. Also, George, you'll have to take off your seal."

The other man nodded. "I will," he said, reaching for the patch of his magic that lay flush against the wound under the bandages.

George's magical skills were very limited, and with a grand total of maybe four spells to his name he hardly considered himself worthy of the title of mage. The one spell that he had found useful in his work as a surgeon was one that put a seal of air on a leak of any kind – including leaks left by things piercing the human body. Apart from staunching the blood flow from the wound, he had found that it also much improved the outcome of wounds such as Colonel Barnard's.

Now he waited, not about to undo it before Harry gave him the signal that he was actually about to start.

"What are you waiting for?" Barnard asked.

Smith hesitated for a moment, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. "If it's all the same to you, Colonel," he said. "I'd rather call in Colonel Colborne to help us. He has the most impressive water rope spell and has held down patients for me before that way. It's going to be more comfortable for all involved than having Johnny and George throw themselves on you."

"It is not," the older officer told him curtly. "I don't want Colborne involved in this."

"He wouldn't do anything improper," Harry assured him. "Colborne doesn't hold a grudge."

At least Harry didn't think that he did. However, he also hadn't even offered to come along with them after they had dismounted. Of course he _had_ been about to see the Field Marshal, and he might well have thought only of getting that done and over with as soon as possible…

Colborne might not have been holding a grudge, but Barnard definitely was.

"I do not want Colborne involved," he repeated. "It's bad enough I have to put up with one Master sticking his magic into me, but Simmons here keeps telling me it may make the difference between being back in the field within a month or so and getting sent home to recover." He had to stop to catch his breath. Talking started to wear him down. "So do what you have to, but keep _him_ out of this."

For a moment, Harry looked as if he were going to say something more, but Juana's hand on his arm stopped him. The two exchanged a brief glance and a few silent words borne by their shared magic, and Harry turned to Simmons and Kincaid with a sigh. "Hold him down, then. Give him as little space to move as you can possibly manage. This will be delicate work."

*

While he would have liked to come along and pay Barnard a visit of his own – they had been friends, after all, and as far as he was concerned, they still were –, Colborne did not think that he would be welcome at the wounded man's bedside right now. The excitement of getting to throw out the Water Master who kept flaunting the rules was surely not something he needed in his current state.

From the barn where they had left their horses, Colborne took the direct path to where Wellington had his headquarters, hoping to find the Field Marshal there.

He wasn't hoping in vain.

Wellington stood pondering a map table when Colborne entered, barely glancing up.

"The Water Dragon has done justice to his name, I hear," he commented without bothering with a greeting of any kind.

Colborne felt his face grow hot. Why could nothing ever escape the notice of their Field Marshal? "It was nothing, Sir," he stated humbly, hoping that that the other man would let it go.

Wellington made a non-committal sound. "You've come some way from barely able to control some undines that adore you to ordering around those loyal to another Master," he observed. "Though it seems you have let your success as a Master cloud your judgement as an officer. Attacking that redoubt was unnecessary. We could have spared ourselves a lot of dead and wounded if you'd just let it be – we were about to close it in anyway. Or is it that you are trying to set up a record for capturing complete regiments?"

"No such thing, Sir," Colborne answered, forcing himself not to let his eyes drop to the floor. "I got the order to move on, and it was impossible to get any clarification of that order. We didn't expect much resistance – they were already all but surrounded after all."

Wellington favoured him with a cold look. "And where did that order come from?"

"Charles Beckwith brought it." There was nothing but to answer the question, and while he hated to cause trouble for someone, unclear orders were a liability they could not afford on the battlefield. "I did try to get clarification, Sir, but when I couldn't, I consulted with Smith and we came to the conclusion that the order meant we were to attack."

The Field Marshal made an inarticulate sound, and without thinking about it, Colborne raised his eyes to the corner of the ceiling.

"Is your 'Uncle' hanging about again?" Wellington demanded, spinning on his heel to follow Colborne's line of sight.

"No sir," the Colonel answered quickly. "This just would have been one of those situations that seem to draw him, so I half expected an appearance."

"Maybe he'll stay away now that you've stopped leaking your thoughts," Wellington suggested, his tone still unchanged. "Now, as to yesterday – have you seen the list of dead and wounded?"

"I have."

Wellington waited mutely, apparently expecting something more.

"It lists about two hundred men, Sir, but it's not entirely accurate – or, in theory it is, but half of those have only minor wounds that do not impair them, and they have refused to go to the rear to a man." In fact, he had been quite surprised when he had seen the list, reading the names of men he had exchanged greetings with only minutes earlier. Suspecting a mess-up somewhere, he had gone to investigate and been faced with men outraged at the idea that they would abandon their Colonel and take time to recover from what were no more than flesh wounds.

Impressed and thankful, he had made sure that they were aware they could still go to the rear if they desired, admonished them to take proper care of themselves and left the decision to them.

"Well, at least you're not too short on men then," Wellington remarked. "I expect we'll have some skirmishing over the next few days, so you'll need them."

He turned his attention back to his map.

Colborne recognised a dismissal when he saw one. Sketching a salute – Wellington didn't seem to be looking his way, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of what he was doing, he turned and went to wait for the others. He still didn't expect to be welcome at Barnard's sickbed.


	25. Chapter 25

Moving carefully to avoid waking anyone else, Colborne snuck outside of his cottage.

Usually, he had no trouble bedding down anywhere and dozing off the moment his head touched the pillow, or whatever he was using in lieu of one, at all. Today, things were different.

He wasn't fond of sudden, unexplained things happened to him, and he dearly hoped that this unusual restlessness didn’t have anything to do with some magical thing or another that would cause him even more problems if he ignored it.

Maybe some fresh air would help clear his mind, and make things a little clearer.

Walking outside, it didn't take long before he saw the familiar silhouette of Harry Smith standing by one of the fires, talking to the men camped there.

Colborne went to join them.

"Colonel," Harry greeted him, interrupting his conversation as if he had not just been spewing forth a veritable waterfall of words. "What brings you out here?"

"Couldn't sleep," Colborne admitted.

Before he could say anything more, Harry had turned away from the Fire and taken Colborne's arm to steer him away. "Let's walk a bit," he suggested with a grin. "You'll get tired soon enough."

"Yes, mother," Colborne answered with a grin, letting the younger man direct him away from the soldiers.

Harry waited until they were well out of earshot, chatting on about his day and Juana's joy at being put in charge of the goose he had already procured. Once he was certain they wouldn't be overheard, he asked: "So what's really up? You've never been unable to sleep before."

With a sigh, Colborne turned his eyes from Harry's face to the starlit sky and back again. "I really can't sleep," he insisted. "I don't know – I was wondering if it has something to do with the magic. I'm – I have _waves_ in my head. It's the closest I can come to describing it."

It fit what he felt quite well, he realised as soon as he had said the words. The moment his mind calmed down to get to sleep, he felt the unceasing back and forth of waves hitting rock and retreating again.

Harry looked at him wide-eyed.

"I know it doesn’t make much sense," Colborne defended himself.

The Fire Master shook his head. "It makes perfect sense," he said. "Come, let's get some horses." With that, Harry turned on his heel and walked briskly off towards the area where they kept the animals.

Colborne hurried after him. "Now?" he asked. "What are you—Where are we going?"

Harry expertly bridled Tiny – hoping that Juana would not come out for a late-night visit to find him gone and get angry at him for borrowing the little horse – and Colborne's horse before holding the reins out to his brigadier. He didn't bother with saddles.

"The sea, Water Dragon, the sea." Harry laughed. "You're a Water Master about a ten minutes' ride away from the sea. Of course you have waves in your head! You probably should have gone and said hello yesterday instead of riding to Vera!"

Frowning, Colborne watched Harry jump onto his horse. Say hello to the _sea_? Well, with Magic one never knew…

"My _teacher_ didn't bother to mention I should," he pointed out as he climbed onto his horse somewhat less elegantly than the younger man.

"Your teacher is still a fire master," Harry returned, kicking Tiny into a brisk trot. "And still not used to thinking of water."

Colborne would have much preferred a saddle and stirrups, but at least his horse had somewhat smooth gaits.

"You've had months to get used to it!" he protested Harry's last statement.

"You've been doing fine on your own mostly, Water Dragon" Harry returned.

That was hard to object to, but it once again made Colborne wonder where he would be now, magically, if he had returned to London and gotten proper training as Wellington had originally intended him to.

He surely wouldn't have an Alliance with Fire now then, and he probably wouldn't have Alexander anymore either.

Thinking of Alexander…

 _You may want to stay back_ , he warned the Salamander. _We're going to see the sea_. _That's a lot of water – a lot more than in a bathtub._

Instead of dashing off, though, Alexander merely wrapped his tail more firmly around Colborne's arm and flattened himself against his shoulder looking almost as if he planned to make up for the sleep Colborne wasn't getting.

Colborne felt the sea before he saw it. He had felt it all along, of course, even when he hadn't been aware that was what was happening, but now that he was approaching it, it felt like the voices of more Elementals than he had ever seen before crowding him. It should have been uncomfortable, painful even, he thought as he thought of the din Benoit's Undines had set up by the river the other day.

This was different. While loud, it wasn't a painful loud, and while he had no way to sort out the individual voices, he thought that he could detect some strands teeming with individual themes.

Not strands, he corrected himself. Flows, and eddies, and ripples on the surface of the general background clamour. They were welcoming him, like a beloved but long-lost relative who had finally found his way home. They were inviting him, beckoning to him, promising things he did not understand.

There was power behind those voices, too, more than he had felt in any Water Elemental so far. A kind of power that reminded him of the way Torche and Flambeau felt to him. Primal, wild and untamed, but without the razor-sharp edge that everything deeply rooted in fire and larger than a Salamander still had for him, harmless if touched lightly, but promising pain if he clamped down hard.

"Do you feel that?" Colborne asked his companion, who shook his head.

"Whatever 'that' is, I don't," he claimed. "I feel the sea, but I'm surely not feeling the same thing you are from it."

That seemed logical enough. "What do you feel?"

"A warning."

Colborne thought back to the Forest Fire and wondered if to Harry the sea felt anything like that fire had felt to him. He wouldn't have expected it, really. The sea was nicely confined within its limits most of the time, after all. Sure, there was the tide, but it only went so far. That forest fire had been a lot more mobile.

He felt the pull more strongly now, as the welcome turned into something more adamant. Forcing himself not to urge his horse into a faster gait – it was quite dark, after all, and he wouldn't get there any faster if his mount tripped and spilled him onto the ground – he strained his eyes and ears for the first hint of the sea in the dark.

They crested a mound of hard-packed earth that must have served to protect the buildings close to the sea from a high tide, and Colborne found himself staring open-mouthed at the vast expanse of water sparkling under a moonlit sky.

Looking through his magic, he came to the conclusion that he had never seen that many shades of green in one place, and some of them he was quite sure he had never seen anywhere before.

The feeling of Elementals was swarming his mind now, almost tickling where they brushed against thoughts, curious and as happy to see him as he was to see the sea. The sheer power that rose from that large, untamed body of water came to meet him, enveloping him in a warm embrace that drove away all exhaustion that had previously laced his mind and magic.

Glancing at Harry, he saw the younger man stare with a much more apprehensive expression, observing the sea like he might some large predator, currently well-fed and at ease, but perfectly capable of turning around and tearing his throat out if he put a foot out of line.

Still, they rode down the slope together until the hooves of their horses touched the surf.

Being so close to so much power was an intoxicating experience, leaving Colborne's head spinning as if he had had a few cups of wine too many.

His horse willingly stepped forward until the water reached halfway up the gelding's legs.

With every inch he got closer to the surface of the water, the urge to slip off of his horse grew.

Harry, riding along the edge of the water, shook his head, laughing as if he could actually read Colborne's thoughts.

"Well, Colonel, get off," he told him. "You know you want to."

Maybe he had just been too obvious about it. Hesitating another moment, because getting off meant first getting his horse out of the water again so he could dismount without ruining his boots, Colborne finally came to the conclusion that it was the only sensible thing to do.

Almost forcefully, he pulled himself away from the sea, returning to dry ground and sliding off of his horse's bare back at a safe distance. Good boots were expensive, and salt water could mean death to leather. He felt half-inebriated by the magic, but not so badly that he would have risked ruining his only good pair of sturdy boots.

Water lapped up the beach towards him, apparently trying to crawl after him.

Trusting that his horse wouldn't wander off far but merely find a place to doze, Colborne let go of the reins to pull off his boots and socks.

About to wade back into the water, he was stopped by Harry's amused chuckle.

"What?" he asked, scowling up at the still-mounted man.

"Nothing," Harry claimed. "Just – I'd shed a few more clothes if I was you. Most people don't go swimming in full uniform."

Colborne glanced down himself, then back up at Harry. "I wasn't going to go swimming," he claimed.

"Oh yes," Smith laughed. "You were. You are."

Alexander wriggled uneasily in Colborne's jacket at the thought. He may not have minded coming to see the sea, but going swimming definitely wasn't to his taste.

"I can't," Colborne stated blandly.

Once, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. He had been a good swimmer, but that had been before his injury. With only partial use of one arm, he hadn't even tried to swim in a lake or river so far, and the sea was certainly beyond his skill now.

Harry stared at him. "Don't tell me you can't swim. I know you can. Also, you're a Water Master. You were born able to swim."

That, Colborne realised, was as close to the truth as it could come. He didn't remember ever knowing about magic or seeing elementals as a child, but he knew that he had felt right at home in the river from the first time he had jumped in after his classmates, not wanting to be considered a coward and realising the moment he touched the water that he felt like he belonged in there. He'd been a better swimmer than many of them by the end of that day, and no one would have believed him if he'd told them it was the first time he tried it.

"That may be true," Colborne allowed. "But I have swum in the sea before. I know how strong it is. If you don't have full use of your body, it's folly to try."

"You're a Water Master," Harry repeated, sounding like he was talking to a slightly daft student now. "You could be trussed up and weighed down with stones and you'd still float. The sea will protect you, not harm you. Now, if I were to try, I'd probably not come back out unless I have someone along to protect me."

Still looking dubious, Colborne considered the information. It certainly was an enticing thought…

Almost without his volition, his hands went up to undo the buttons on his coat.

"Have you ever tried?" he asked his friend as he slowly put aside the red garment with a reassuring thought to Alexander that he would not swim off and leave him all alone here at the beach. It was just like a bath in a somewhat larger tub, really…

"Yes, though I don't know what kind of devil rode me that day," Harry admitted. "George Simmons was there, and he talks to Water, though he doesn't control it. He asked them to leave me alone."

"What if I asked them to leave you alone?" the older man asked. His shirt and breeches formed a neat heap now, with a Salamander using them as his bed while he watched his friend's folly with an apprehensive expression.

Harry took a moment to answer. "I think it's safer if one of us stays out here and keeps watch just in case. Also, while Simmons taught me to swim a little, I'm not sure I'd manage to keep myself from drowning in a sea that's welcoming a Water Dragon, even if it didn't _mean_ to harm me."

While the latter sounded like nothing but an excuse, the former seemed sensible enough.

Steeling himself for contact with the cold water, Colborne walked forward. It was the middle of November, after all, not exactly the time of year one usually went dipping into the ocean even during the day.

The waves came up to meet him, and now there was no denying that they were coming farther up the sand where he was approaching them than anywhere else.

He almost yelped in surprise when the water lapped over his bare feet for the first time – and not because of the cold. Surprisingly, the cold didn't feel unpleasant at all, and even though he knew that it had to be the other way around, the water was a lot more comfortable to the touch than the air.

The moment he came in contact with the water, though, a surge of magic went through him that went well beyond his wildest dreams, even with the way the sea felt against his mind to give him an inkling of what to expect.

For a moment, there was nothing for him but the sea, with all its water, and Water, and the creatures that lived in – and of – both.

As the wave that had touched him receded again, it left behind a feeling of loss and longing, and he hastened his steps.

Two undines appeared at his side, laughing and waving to him, beckoning him forward. They weren't much larger than the ones he had named usually were, but they had a distinctly different feel to them.

Were there such things as salt water undines versus fresh water undines, or was this simply a side effect of their living in a body of water that was so much larger and uncontrolled?

Another wave came at him, higher and more forceful, lifting him off of his feet and carrying him a good way out into the water. It shouldn’t have had that much strength, not out here by the beach, not with the water as unagitated as it was otherwise.

Caught by surprise, Colborne suddenly found himself surrounded by water on all sides. A moment later, his head broke through the surface, and he shook wet hair out of his eyes – he'd have to cut it. If it was this long when wet, it was too long when dry, though his curls could be misleading – and spit out a mouthful of salt water.

From behind him, he heard Harry Smith's amused laugh.

The undines were still with him, swimming out into the sea a way, then waiting, looking at him expectantly.

Hoping that Harry had been right and he wasn't in any danger of drowning due to the impaired state of his right arm, Colborne let the waves carry him after them.

One of the Elementals dashed closer, reaching out and tapping his arm with a small hand, then flitting away through the waves, her fish-tail slapping the water and sending a spray of tiny droplets into his face.

Remembering Cadoux' game of tag with the Sylphs, Colborne went after the Undine, only to find three more scattering out of his path.

A moment later, he found himself chasing Undines and being chased by them. If he was carrying on like a ten year old boy rather than the thirty-five year old officer that he was, he really couldn't have cared any less about it at this moment.

How, he wondered as the tips of his fingers brushed a fin and he rolled in the water to get out of the way of a retaliating Elemental, could he ever have thought that he might not be able to swim anymore? Harry had had the right of it. As a Water Master, he belonged in the water, and the sea itself took care of him and made sure he wouldn’t drown. He hardly even glanced at the shore anymore. He knew he was moving away from it, but that knowledge did not cause him any concern now. All he had to do to return there was to let himself be carried back to it. He was as safe here with his elementals as he would have been sleeping in his room at Arbonne – safer, probably, since there was decidedly less of a chance of the French attacking him here.

As he dove to evade another playful jab at him, he thought he saw some other Elementals in the depth, elementals of kinds that he had not seen before. Some of them didn't seem too different from the Undines he was familiar with, others had a distinctly strange feel to them.

It wasn't bad, as such, certainly not what he would have called evil, but it had a foreign quality that raised apprehension as well as curiosity in him.

Abandoning the game of tag for the moment, he pushed down deeper, trying to get a closer look.

The presence he could feel there receded, moving away to keep the distance between them roughly the same. So he, too, had been sensed.

 _I mean no harm_ , he sent towards the creature. _I only want to say hello._

Still it moved, and he followed. He wanted to see that Elemental, whatever it was, close up.

Then, suddenly, his downward course was interrupted as another, larger, body careened into him, not quite forcefully enough to leave bruises, but sufficiently to spin him around in the water, causing him to lose all sense of up and down for a moment. Colborne tried to regain his bearings. Where should he go?

Air hadn't felt all that necessary until a moment ago, but now that his chase had been interrupted, the need was becoming more pressing with every moment that passed. Which way was up?

Calling himself several kinds of fool, he clamped down on the rising panic. The sea might not drown him by accident on account of his being a Water Master, but did that hold true for drowning him by accident because he had done something stupid as well?

As if in answer, a dark shape appeared by his side, gliding smoothly and elegantly through the green hues that surrounded him. Wreathed in a shine of magic of its own, it turned and gave him a long, clearly amused look from a round, dark eye before pushing the tip of its almost beak-like nose at him.

 _Come, Water Master_. Its voice felt like a shower of cool water on a hot day as it butted him gently with its – her – head, pushing him upwards.

 _Thank you, friend_ , he returned, not wasting another moment on deciding whether to trust this creature that, from the way it looked, was neither animal nor Elemental, but a little of both.

He broke through the surface and drew in a deep breath.

Turning, he found himself looking into his rescuer's face. He had seen dolphins before, of course, as they followed the ships he had been on. Now he wondered if they had all been like this one, if he would have seen that eerie green glow around them if he had had access to his magic then. Had they been following a Water Master then, too?

 _Take care_ , she told him, mild reproach in her voice. _The sea loves you but not all creatures in it do. Don't get careless._

 _I will remember that_ , came his heart-felt reply. He glanced up, trying to guess how long he had been playing with the Elementals. Harry was probably still waiting for him at the beach! And which way was that?

He reached out with his magic, quickly determining which direction he needed to go to and scolding himself mentally for not thinking of _that_ while he had been underwater.

The dolphin laughed. _You would have remembered in time_ , she claimed. _But you are right. You should return to your kind before you grow fins and swim off, never to be seen on land again._

"Is that even possible?" Colborne didn't think it was, but who was he to say what magic could or could not do.

His new friend opened her beak and gave a very audible laugh. _Stranger things have happened, but I was joking. I'll see you home safely, though, if you don't mind._

He certainly did not. There was something about this merry creature that made him want to keep her company a bit longer.

As she swam ahead, Colborne gathered some of the magic in his direct vicinity. He needed the extra power to bolster his body, which was starting to feel quite exhausted by now.

Of course he could have simply let the water carry him back, but he wasn't sure how long that would take, and Harry would certainly not be happy if he didn’t get to return to his wife before dawn.

The dolphin returned, seemingly reading his thoughts, and dipped down in the water, almost pushing her fin into his hand. _Hold on, Water Master_ , she chuckled. _I'll have you back with your friend in a moment._

Confused, Colborne checked his shields. They were there, including the one that kept his thoughts in and protected them from the being read by Elementals. But this wasn't an Elemental, and that shield didn't seem to be doing any good with her.

 _Aye_ , she told him as she shot forward with a flick of her tail, towing him with her as easily as if he didn't weigh a thing. _You still have much to learn, Water Master. But be thankful for it today – if I hadn't caught your distress, it would have lasted a little longer._

Well, the first was certainly true enough. One day, he told himself, one day he would find a Water Master and learn the secrets of his talent properly. And if he didn't…

 _Then you'll have to call for one of us to watch over you every time you enter the ocean_ , the dolphin told him. She didn’t seem bothered by it. _There are things living in these waters that you do not want to encounter unprepared or unprotected._

That, he had to admit, was true even without factoring in magic. Some of the creatures he had heard sailors talk about… though who was to say that those had not had anything to do with magic?

He looked ahead, trying to make out the shoreline in the moonlight. As he did so, he could see the threads of green going out from his friend, wrapping around him, casting ahead to push aside anything in their way that they might have crashed into at full speed, keeping the smaller creatures in the waters from injury.

She has magic of her own, he realised. This wasn't solely a creature of magic like the Elementals, but one skilled in the use of the power as well. A crazy thought shot through his mind. Could she teach him her secrets?

 _If there were a need and if you were to remain by the sea for long enough, maybe_ , she answered even before he directed the question at her. Friendly as she was, she had about the same respect for the privacy of someone else's thoughts as Uncle. _But there is no need and you will leave again too soon. And I will leave you here._

They stopped, and Colborne let go of her, wondering if it would be appropriate to pat her in thanks or whether it would be quite rude to treat a wonderful creature like her as if she were a horse.

 _I don't know about horses_ , her voice chimed in his mind again, _but I would like the pat._

Joining in her laughter, he obliged, following up with a thorough scratching of her back before they parted, each going back to their own people.

They had come close enough to the beach for Colborne to stand and wade out of the water.

The night air felt cold on him, making him wish that he could just return to the sea and stay there.

Pushing aside the thought, he looked around for Harry, fearing for a moment that he had come out on the wrong section of beach – what if a dolphin had the same idea of space as a certain djinni had of time?

With some relief, he found the younger man, sitting in the sand not far from Colborne's clothes and boots, his horse's reins looped loosely around his hand and his eyes half-closed as he seemed to doze.

Smith shook himself when Colborne approached, springing to his feet. "How'd it go?" he wanted to know.

Colborne hardly needed any conscious thought to let the water run off from his skin and hair anymore, leaving him dry enough to get dressed. "It went great," he admitted. If he had planned on showing a little less enthusiasm and conducting himself properly like a mature man, those plans scattered into the winds the moment Harry's question had brought back the memory of what it had felt like to be one with the sea, mingling with the Elementals there without a care for what was proper on land. He knew that his face had to be sporting a wide, boyish grin at the thought. "I'm sure I won't have any trouble finding some sleep now."

"Good," Harry yawned, feigning disinterest and failing miserably. "Then let's get mounted, and you can tell me all about your adventures in the sea on the way back while we think about how we'll prevent Juana from skinning both of us alive for not taking her along."


	26. Chapter 26

He could still feel the sea calling out to him, but now it wasn't the all-encompassing rush through his mind that had stolen his sleep before.

Wellington, apparently having decided that Vera was too far from the front lines now, had relocated his headquarters into one of the local castles.

Orders for Colborne and his men to move had come not long after that. The castle they had been assigned as winter quarters was a somewhat more demure affair than the one where their Field Marshal was staying, which might not have been entirely without intention on his part.

"The 52nd can take up quarters in the castle," Colborne had been told. "The others will need to settle for the village."

After one good look at the castle, he shook his head and adjusted that order. The building was large enough to house a good number more men than had been assigned to it, and he really preferred to have everybody together. It would be a snug fit, but the men were used to that.

Colborne spent several hours distributing and redistributing rooms, Harry and Juana Smith by his side and giving advice on who to lodge with whom. Sometimes it seemed that there wasn't a single man in the brigade those two did not have intimate knowledge of.

Finally, Colborne was sufficiently convinced that everyone had found a place to sleep where he wasn't likely to get into potentially fatal arguments with his roommates.

Wiping imaginary sweat from his brow, he gave Harry a tired smile. "I think we've done it, Smith. Now let's get settled as well. I don't know about you, but I feel like I just walked back to Lisbon without my horse."

Harry nodded, an impudent grin on his face.

"What is it?" Colborne demanded.

"Nothing, Sir," the younger man returned, still grinning. "Just that – my wife and I can retire to our room easily enough, but where will _you_ sleep?"

"Why, in—" Colborne started, interrupting himself when he realised that Harry was right. He had taken one look at the room that had been intended as his, determined that it was much too large to house a single person in a place where they had to make the most of space, and passed it on to a group of six instead.

He had intended to take one of the smaller chambers for himself, and possibly one of the other officers if the space allowed, but had eventually forgotten about it in his efforts to fit in everybody else.

As a result, he now found himself without accommodation.

He groaned, both at the thought of having to re-do at least part of his assignments, and at the reaction he would likely face from at least some of the men for it.

"Oh, I think we can fit another cot into our room," Juana declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I can't possibly impose on you…" Colborne started to object anyway, but she cut him off before he could get any farther than that.

"We have slept in closer quarters," she declared. "You'll just have to live with the fact that Tom snores – and so does Enrique."

"I do not!" Harry bristled.

Juana laughed. "Whatever you call it, you do sleep very vocally." She turned back to Colborne. "So really, dear, if you don't mind that, you are more than welcome to share our quarters. Unless you really need a room all to yourself?"

He really didn't.

"Well… If Tom doesn’t mind," Colborne answered, still hesitating. "Either Tom, that is." He couldn't very well point out that he didn't want to steal what little privacy they had from the couple, since they were already officially sharing the room with Harry's brother and Tom Fane, which, as they had repeatedly reminded him of earlier, they weren't doing for the first time.

"They will not!" Juana declared, her eyes flashing in a way that suggested that she would make sure that they didn't. "Just have your man bring your things to our room, and we'll get you settled – though on second thought, I think I better go and keep an eye on that. He is not a very reliable servant."

"He's all I need," Colborne tried to insist, though it didn't sound as convinced as he would have liked. In fact, the serving man he had acquired during the campaign did have a bit of a tendency to do only the minimum amount of work that he could get away with. Having or not having him didn't make a great deal of a difference to the number of things he had to do for himself, so at one point, Colborne had tried to leave him with his sister's household.

That hadn't been very long, and Antonio had been sent right back to him.

Still, he almost pitied the Calabrian, knowing that Juana expected a lot more effort than he ever went to the trouble to enforce. If she was going to supervise his work, he would likely end up working more in this afternoon than he had in all of the last two weeks.

Juana, always a woman of her word, briskly walked off in search of Antonio.

"He'll never know what hit him," Harry commented, still grinning. "Poor Antonio." His tone didn't quite match the words, though, and Colborne shook his head with an amused chuckle.

About to comment further, Colborne was stopped by what seemed to be a small mound of earth growing out of the tiles by his feet.

He took an involuntary step backwards. Even living under the roof of an Earth Master in Vera and seeing her Elementals around the house and garden every day, his experience with those found on the battlefields was still at the front of his mind whenever he saw something that bore the signature colours of Earth.

The magic in this one, however, was a healthy, beautiful cinnamon brown, rather than the bloody, death-tainted shades that he half-expected.

 _Excuse me, Sir_ , the Elemental said politely as it drew itself up to its full height of maybe one foot. _My Master requests that you see her._

Apparently, he had broadcast that request in general rather than directing it at Colborne only. "You better go do that," Harry suggested. "I'll stick around in case any of the men have any more questions?"

He made it sound like a question, though it really was more of an announcement. Harry Smith, Colborne had found since he had been working with him as his brigade major, was good at making his own orders. In contrast to Skerrett, though, Colborne didn't mind some anticipation of commands as long as Smith still did what he said when he said it.

As it was, he nodded to Smith and turned back towards the Elemental – a Brownie he had called them in Vera. _Lead the way_ , he told him. _And remember that I cannot go through floors or walls_.

The Brownie favoured him with a look that suggested that he was feeling very much insulted by Colborne's implication that he might forget such a thing, but he said nothing. Instead, he slid across the tiles, just fast enough to let Colborne follow at a natural walking speed.

They turned into a side corridor and climbed down a flight of stairs. This was clearly the servants' area, evident from the bare walls and plain but serviceable furnishings.

So the Brownie's Master was a servant? Colborne wondered what she would want with him. If it had been merely a matter of one Master welcoming another, it wouldn't have been logical to collect only him, the sole Water Master, while ignoring all the Fire around them.

 _Here_ , the Brownie announced, stopping by a closed door. He dove into the room, his squat body compressing to slide through the gap left under the door.

Colborne lifted his hand to knock, only to find the door swinging inward before he had even touched it.

"Good day, Water Master," the woman who held it by the inner handle said, stepping aside and beckoning him in.

He took in the room as he entered. It was a workroom, that much was evident. Going by the traces of magic that he could see all over the place, it was a magical workroom in addition to whatever else it was usually used for. The brown and golden traces of Earth Magic lined the walls and the gaps between the tiles on the floor. They shone brightly from bundles of plants in various states of drying, hung from lines strung across the ceiling. A duller gleam came from jars stacked in a shelf. The desk was overlaid with a reddish brown, but not of the unpleasant sort that he knew too well. One of its drawers blazed like a veritable torch of magic, protected against being opened by the wrong persons, as Colborne assumed.

The woman, now closing the door again, was surely past fifty, grey hair done up in a bun. She was dressed in the uniform and apron of a castle servant but moved with the air of a commander, rather than one used to receiving commands.

She turned to Colborne, her shields out and visible. "I am Jeanne Dupont," she introduced herself. "Earth Master and in charge of the Chateau's servants, human and Elemental."

"Lieutenant Colonel John Colborne," he returned. "Water Master, acting brigadier of the men who're quartered here."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Is that so?"

Colborne raised his eyebrows in a mute question. Why would she doubt his words? He had spoken only the truth after all.

"I hear you are a good deal more than that, Master. I hear that you are causing quite a stir among the Elementals wherever you go."

"That is not my intention," Colborne said, sounding slightly defensive. It had never been. He had thought his shields were better than that, though. The Elementals, other than his own, should not even have noticed his presence if they were as good as he had thought.

Either he had overestimated his own skill at shielding, or there had to be another explanation.

One sprang to mind without much effort.

 _Alexander?_ He asked silently. _Do you have anything to do with this?_

Instead of answering, the Salamander shrunk a little and crawled a bit deeper into the sleeve of Colborne's jacket.

In a way, that was an answer as well. He'd have to have a talk with his Salamander friend later, if he could catch a moment's privacy with him somewhere.

"Have I caused a problem?" he asked instead. "If so, I apologise. If there's any way I can remedy it…"

"Nothing that could not have been handled by the local Masters," the woman told him. "And it's not why I asked you to see me, though I admit I was curious about what kind of man this _Water Dragon_ was."

Colborne visibly winced at the mention of his title.

Now it was Madame Dupont's turn to look at him with a question in her eyes.

"I just wish I'd never have to hear that name again," Colborne clarified. "I didn't ask for it and I am not certain that I deserve it at all. As a matter of fact, I find it somewhat embarrassing. I never did anything to earn it."

She snorted. "I have rarely heard of the Elementals bestowing a title on one of us, and never of them doing so without reason. Very well, though – what am I supposed to call the Water Master that carries a fire elemental and has two of the most magnificent Phoenixes I've ever seen waiting for him outside the Chateau?"

"How about 'Colonel Colborne'?" Colborne suggested cautiously. "That's all the name or title I need."

She inclined her head. "Very well. Colonel Colborne it is. Do you speak for the Masters in your brigade?"

Now there was an idea he had never conceived of before. "Only in a strictly military sense," he answered. "I would not presume to do so at a magical level. I believe where that is concerned, each man speaks only for himself."

"Is that so?" she asked. "It is a bit different for us, but very well. I will not presume to tell you how to lead your men, Colonel."

For a moment, he wondered what else Alexander had let slip. Did she talk like that to her employers as well, or was she actually aware that he didn't stand on a lot of formality and respect with his servants either? Or was it quite simply that they were not talking as officer of the English army and French servant in an occupied castle, but rather as Water Master to Earth Master, entirely unconcerned with military or other hierarchies? If that was the case, he regretted having given his rank as part of his desired form of address.

"Having a look at the strange Water Master with his fire friends wasn't the only reason you asked me to come, though, was it?" he hazarded a guess.

Her lips twitched, and he knew that he had struck true.

"Two things, mostly," she told him. "One, you stuffed a lot more people into the Chateau than are supposed to fit in here."

"They need shelter for the winter months, and I would rather have them all in one place than spread out over the surrounding villages," Colborne explained. "They will behave and not cause any undue hardship."

The sound she made suggested that their presence was already causing undue hardship. "They are still too many," she told him flatly. "We do not have the number of servants needed to keep the Chateau running with so many people. Even if most of them provide for their own meals, there is work to be done that will not get less the more people we house. I would like a precise list from you telling me where you put your Masters and Mages. I'll deploy our Brownies in those areas. Trust me, if I don't bring them in to help us, your men will be living in a pigsty before long."

Colborne hadn't been about to argue the point, but he didn't bother to point that out now either. Instead, he merely took out the notebook he had used to plan his room assignments and showed her the pages with quick sketches of the different floors and the rooms on them, pointing out where he had placed the magically inclined. Where possible, they had grouped them together anyway, reducing the risk of others who were just borderline sensitive catching a glimpse of Elementals here and there. What could be avoided easily in a camp was infinitely more difficult in quarters as close as this castle.

She looked at the pages, counting rooms and men.

"If you don't mind," she said, "The Brownie that fetched you will remain our liaison. You can use him to send messages to me if there is anything I should know, and I will use him to inform you of anything I believe you should."

He nodded. He probably could have sent an undine in a pinch, but the Brownie was a lot more comfortable traversing the Castle, he assumed. Sylphia wasn't the most reliable messenger, surely wouldn't have ventured into an underground floor anyway, and possibly might have flat-out refused to speak with an Earth Master to begin with.

Alexander was a very hesitant messenger, still preferring to stay close to Colborne and not comfortable at all with being sent anywhere on his own.

"So what is the other thing?" Colborne asked. "You said you had two reasons for wanting to see me."

If the sudden change of subject took her aback, she didn't show it.

"If your men are going to use the river flowing past the castle to drink from or bathe in, you better go down and cleanse it," she informed him. "There must be something rotting in it upstream, and we have no Water Master around to take care of it."

And wasn't that just his luck? Somehow it seemed that no matter where he went, all the local Water Masters were either at war, in a different part of the military forces, or otherwise absent. Really, if he had been inclined to be paranoid, he would have believed they were avoiding him.

"I'll take care of it," he sighed. At least cleansing was something he could do. He'd have to send some soldiers upstream to remove whatever was polluting the river, though, or the water wouldn't stay cleansed for long. "Right now, if you don't mind – before anyone does conceive of a notion to go bathing or fill up their canteens from it."

She gave him an approving nod. "You'll hear from me if there's anything else," she promised.

With a brief 'thank you', he took his leave and went to have a look at the river.

As the Earth Master had told him, the water was tainted, and sending his magic upstream quickly yielded the source of the contamination.

Once found, it didn't take Colborne very long to find two men he could send upriver to drag the body out of the water. He would have liked to send mages, who wouldn't have wondered how he could tell what was happening upriver from down here, but while he knew there was something in the water, and even got a sufficient description out of a couple of deeply disgusted local Undines who only agreed to stick around due to his promise to cleanse the river in a short while, he still wasn't sure how far in the body was. He knew a Fire Mage would not find it easy to wade into the water without someone there to keep a leash on the Elementals, and they were already upset by the pollution of their home.

So instead, he merely dropped a hint about overhearing locals and not wanting to run the risk to have their drinking water spoiled.

He waited, keeping an eye and an ear on the Undines until they reported that the source of the pollution had been removed. The moment he got that, he spread out his magic, driving it against the flow of the river to clean the water of any remnants of the unhealthy traces of a sickly greenish-brown that floated down with the current.

Though it didn't take very long, it left him rather exhausted. He had never cleansed this much water in one go before.

Taking a sip of the freshly pure liquid felt wonderfully invigorating. Even a non-magical person would possibly notice that water from that river tasted just a bit fresher and cleaner than any other they could find around.

Satisfied with his work, Colborne walked back to the castle.

He found Harry and Juana in front of it, arguing in rapid bursts of Spanish.

"You gave him to me. He is my goose and I can name him whatever I like!" Juana presently snapped at her husband.

"Yes, love, yes," Harry returned, a hint of desperation in his voice. "You can name him anything, anything at all but that! Really, it would not go over well if he found out!"

"It is a perfectly good name, and there are many people who are called that!" the woman insisted.

The object of their argument was standing nearby, looking confused. Harry had not taken very long to find a goose, and Juana had, in fact, been delighted at the prospect of a Christmas dinner, even if said Christmas dinner was currently looking a bit scruffy. They still had plenty of time to fatten the goose after all.

As far as he could tell from the part of their conversation that he had overheard, it seemed to Colborne that Juana had taken it into her head to give said Christmas dinner a name and Harry deeply disapproved of her choice. Curious, he walked over to them.

"What are you going to call him?" he asked innocently. "John?"

Juana looked at him with some exasperation. "John is not a good name for a goose! His name is Arthur!"

Colborne and Harry exchanged a look.

"Colonel, do try to talk some reason into my wife!" Harry begged, throwing up his hands. "Please explain to her why we cannot possibly call a goose Arthur!"

The older man would have liked to tell his friend that he would do no such thing and he could very well convince his wife of that on his own, but Harry did have a point. Colborne wasn't any keener than the younger man on having to explain to the Field Marshal how exactly a goose came to share his first name.

"Actually," he said, "I don't think we should name the goose at all. If he has a name, who's still going to want to eat him at Christmas? Can't he just stay 'the goose'?" Colborne asked. "I for one am not too fond of eating things I used to be on a first-name basis with."

Juana glared at him. " _We_ are not naming the goose," she pointed out. "I am. And I say his name is Arthur."

"Juana, please…" Colborne started, sparing a somewhat confused look for the suddenly panicky expression on Harry's face. "Can you just not name him Arthur? Imagine Wellington dropping by and overhearing someone talking about us fattening Arthur for our Christmas dinner… How do you think that'll go over?"

"How do you think it'll go over?" a familiar voice sounded behind Colborne's back, sending a jolt through him and explaining Harry's increasingly frantic cut-off hand sign. Lord Wellington closed the rest of the distance between them and took a long look at the goose before favouring Juana with a slight smile. In Colborne's direction, he said: "Let me inform you that 'Arthur' is a perfectly normal name shared by many and not exclusive to any one person. If she wants to name her goose Arthur, let her!"

He turned back towards the woman, adding, "Juanita, my dear, I think Arthur is a very good name."

Beaming, the young woman bent down to scratch the goose's head. "I think it is, my lord! I think it is!"

 


	27. Chapter 27

Life at the chateau was uneventful for the next few weeks. They posted their picquet lines and the French posted theirs, closer together than they used to be.

Without any truly violent encounters expected, Colborne took the opportunity to work with his Elementals, sending them on increasingly complicated errands close to and even behind the French lines. Skerrett had once posted his Salamanders to inform him of the advance of the enemy, a report that Alexander had not returned out of fear of his Master.

Colborne's Elementals weren't afraid of him, though, and he thought he would actually stand a good chance to get reliable information.

He certainly learned a lot about what went on in the French camp, though none of it was very useful. Many times he impressed upon them what kind of information he was looking for, reminding them to come to him and report at once if they heard or saw anything.

They were diligent in their reporting, and though Colborne had to think about it for a bit in some cases, he could usually identify what had caused them to think he wanted to know this or that particular piece of information. He tried to refine his orders, much to Harry's amusement. The younger officer remained firm in his assumption that Elementals made bad spies.

Field Marshal Wellington was a frequent guest at their castle when he inspected their lines, staying up to date with the situation just as if it hadn't been the same, day after day, for several weeks.

Arthur the goose, allowed to roam the castle freely, had taken a great liking to the man.

Wellington himself was thoroughly amused by the men trying to not call the bird by name when he was around. Usually not in the habit of eating between breakfast and dinner, he had suddenly acquired a habit of accepting offered snacks at Colborne's chateau , if only to pass them on to Arthur. He came to regard him as a special friend. Soon, he would waddle off to join the Field Marshal as soon as the man was near, hoping for another treat or an absent-minded scratch of his feathers.

"Maybe we shouldn't eat him after all," Harry mused one day when he saw his Christmas dinner make a beeline for Wellington, who had just arrived for his inspection. "We could always use him to find our commander again if we ever lose him."

"He will make a much better Christmas dinner than a guide," Juana claimed, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. She was, as both Harry and Colborne suspected, growing fond of the bird.

The only one among them who did not get on well with Arthur was the Brownie that followed Colborne every step he took around the castle. Earth and Air did not mix well, and Arthur seemed to have an above-average appetite for Brownie to boot. More than once, the bird tried to take a bite out of the Elemental, who had expanded his task of carrying messages between the Colonel and his Master a little.

The Brownie had taken one look at the condition of Colborne's wardrobe and almost burst into tears, or whatever passed for them among Earth elementals.

 _Missing buttons_ , he had stated upon Colborne's question. _Tears, stains, patches stitched on as if a Sylph had done the work_.

His opinion of Sylphs as well as of the servant Antonio expressed in a single sentence, the Brownie set to work, going over every single piece of Colborne's clothing, from coat to socks, mending and cleaning until Colborne had trouble telling which clothes actually were his.

The Brownie went one step farther even – had anyone cared to look and believe what they were seeing, they could have watched Colborne's coat twitching itself into place over his stiff shoulder as the Colonel was leaving the room he shared with the Smiths and his Aide-de-Camp in the mornings, until every fold was in place just so to conceal as much of his disability as it could.

While he considered the effort quite unnecessary, Colborne did appreciate the sentiment behind it. The Brownie apparently considered him his charge and would do anything to make sure he was impeccably attired and leaving Torche wondering whether her Water Master friend had finally learned to dress himself properly.

"Leave out a bit of food for it," Harry suggested when he mentioned it. "We always did that at home. They enjoy that and it's the one thing they will actually take from you that won't make them angry."

"Why would it make him angry to get anything from me?" Colborne wanted to know.

Harry shrugged. "You'd have to ask an Earth Master about the particulars, Sir," he said. "But I think it has something to do with not wanting to be in your debt if you give them anything they might consider 'payment'. I don't know why food doesn’t count."

Colborne made a mental note to ask the head servant when next he saw her. "And where do you suggest I leave the food? Have you forgotten that Arthur gets into everything that looks remotely edible?"

"Put it up on some piece of furniture," Harry answered. "Arthur's much too fat to fly and the brownie won't mind climbing a bit."

Well, it couldn't hurt to try, and Colborne soon found out that _someone_ in any case was taking all the offerings he left.

*

Though there weren't any real attacks, there were frequent alarms. The French were posted much closer to them than usual, and false alarms were a common occurrence. As it was, they had hardly a night in which they weren't roused by a call to arms because someone had thought the French were attaching when, in fact, they were only relieving their picquets.

Colborne fervently hoped that the French weren't faring any better when his posts were relieved. It was one thing to have his sleep interrupted unnecessarily on a regular basis, but it would have been quite another to know that his counterpart on the other side was spending all night comfortably curled up wherever he had his bed, dreaming sweet dreams of how his men were keeping the British on their toes.

Ignoring Harry's continued advice against it, Colborne picked out three of his most trusted undines and placed them at strategic points, sufficiently wet to not make them uncomfortable, and asked them to keep an eye on the French.

They had orders to report to him if they saw anything indicative of a real attack being planned or underway. Unwilling to rely solely on that, Colborne sent out a query to them every time the alarm was raised.

While he did, of course, make an appearance anyway, his plan seemed to be working so far. The answers were accurate, as far as he could tell, the alarms false.

December came, and brought an unpleasantly wet cold. Discomfort did nothing to cheer up the men on duty, their nerves already frayed from the constant strain of false alarms.

The sun wasn't quite up yet when Colborne rode out along his lines, his mind half with his undine posts, who didn't mind the cold and revelled in the damp, and half on the men he was passing.

He finally stopped his horse where Harry was standing with another officer, frowning at the French, just within view.

"What's going on?" Colborne asked, following their lines of sight and seeing nothing but the dark shapes of Frenchmen about ready to take their posts again, as they had on many days before, once again close enough to raise an alarm if they made a careless move or the sun came out and reflected awkwardly off of something, making it seem like the wrong kind of equipment was pointing their way.

Harry never took his eyes off the enemy. "They're about to attack," he said.

Squinting, Colborne tried to make out details.

 _What's going on?_ He asked Isabel, his nearest Undine. _Are they doing anything different from before? Has there been talk of an attack?_

She sent back a wordless, though negative reply.

Colborne shook his head. "We'll just have another false alarm if you say that any louder," he pointed out. "They won't do anything. They're just taking their positions again as they have every day."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "This is different, Colonel!" he claimed, pointing some way to their left. "They're moving there, too. And this isn't anything like the last few days in front of us!"

Following where Harry pointed, Colborne could, indeed, make out some movement, though not at a scope that suggested imminent attack. The soldiers moving directly towards them may have been moving a little more deliberately than before, but that could as well be owed to a scolding taken for all-too-leisurely conduct on the days before.

His undines still weren't reporting anything out of the ordinary.

Colborne spread his magic, probing for other Elementals, asking them to relay what was going on.

Nothing he heard from them was in any way reason for concern.

"They won't do anything," he repeated. "Calm down, Captain."

The glare the younger officer gave him bordered on insubordination, as did the motion with which Smith held out his spyglass for Colborne to take. "Colonel, please believe me, they aren't moving like they did the other days. Let me get the brigade. We'll need them."

An impatient shake of the spyglass caused Colborne to reach for it out of reflex, dropping his reins over the front of his saddle as he did so.

The moment Colborne had the device firmly in his grip, Harry moved away, mounting his own horse, ready to gallop off the moment he told him that he could.

Colborne still hesitated. Everything he had been told by the elementals fit what he was seeing, and both said that there was no danger to them. Nevertheless, he brought up the spyglass, taking a good look at the advancing French through it.

The grey light of early morning still didn't allow him to see very clearly. Nevertheless, he thought he could see them moving in a more orderly formation than usual. Was that a fact, or were Harry's nerves rubbing off on him?

His undines still reported nothing out of the ordinary. His magic said that everything was fine.

Captain Smith was insisting on the opposite, and his own physical eyes couldn't tell one way or the other for sure.

Colborne jerked himself out of his thoughts and came to a decision.

"Go get them," he said, watching Harry gallop off without even confirming the order.

His commanding officer remained behind, shaking his head. If it was nothing, Harry would be getting the men for another false alarm, and it would add another little annoyance to the generally unpleasant mood.

On the other hand, if Harry was right and he didn't get the men, they'd be overrun. It was better to be safe.

Raising the spyglass to his eye again, Colborne watched the enemy move.

The sun was coming up, lighting up the scene, and as he counted once again, Harry's take on the situation suddenly grew tremendously in likelihood. Those were far more men than would be needed to man the posts.

He half-turned to take in his own soldiers, alert at their posts, weapons at hand. Bless Smith for making sure of that.

"Prepare for an attack," he told them with another glance towards the French. "They're coming."

Why did his elementals still insist that there was nothing out of the ordinary?

It didn't matter, not now. He had to deal with the situation at hand. He could sort out the elementals later. Where was Smith with the brigade?

Patience, Colborne, he reminded himself. He only just left.

As the men around him prepared to defend their position, Colborne kept an eye on the French. They weren't just advancing towards his post – he could see that now. They were attacking in various locations along the lines.

For a moment, he considered trying to send Elementals to the masters he knew to be near their lines.

Another moment's thought convinced him otherwise. He had just gotten ample proof that the Elementals weren't as reliable as he had thought they were. What if they went but repeated his message inaccurately or – worse – included the French masters in their communication because they couldn't tell friend and foe apart?

Thinking of the elementals, though, made him turn his attention back to his sentries for a moment.

 _Anything to report now?_ He asked, trying to keep the impatience from his tone.

 _Nothing unusual_ , came the reply.

Colborne stared, fighting for his composure for a moment. Nothing unusual? The French were coming right at them, and the Elementals were still insisting that there was nothing unusual?

He decided to try another angle.

 _So what are they doing?_ He demanded.

The Elementals seemed to think about it for a moment. The reply, when it came, was unanimous. _They are walking_ , they reported. _Like always._

That, Colborne had to admit, was most likely accurate. He made a mental note of it, adding it to his knowledge of what the Elementals could or could not comprehend.

And where was Harry with the rest of the men?

There was no longer the least doubt that the French were going to attack. Hoping that his phoenixes would be able to fulfil their task of keeping him safe from enemy fire once again, Colborne took position with his men.

The first shots tore the morning silence.

 _They just stopped walking and started making noise_ , Colborne's sentries reported dutifully in his mind.

 _Yes_ , Colborne sent back, keeping a tight rein on his irritation. _I heard. Thank you._

 _They went back to walking_ , he was informed a moment later.

They were also close enough that he could see they were advancing again without the Elementals' help now.

_And now they are—_

_Thank you_ , Colborne sent back a little sharper than he had intended. _I need to take care of the making noise now. Please feel free to go back to whatever you were doing before. You've been a great help._

Either the Elementals were unable to recognise a lie or he was a better liar than he would have given himself credit for. He felt their happy chatter for a moment before he silenced their voices in his mind to focus on the ensuing battle.

He couldn't have said exactly when Harry arrived with the reinforcements later. The exchange of shots had already turned into a hand-to-hand engagement at the time, and Colborne was quite busy trying not to become a casualty.

Even with the addition to their numbers, all they could do in the end was beat an orderly retreat and regroup at a distance, while the French were making themselves comfortable in their vacated position.

To Harry's credit, he kept the 'I told you so's to himself, even when he could have administered one easily without anyone but Colborne overhearing. Maybe, though, he was simply too busy being worried for his wife back at the Chateau.

They were still in the process of getting ready to advance again for the purpose of taking back their positions, always carefully keeping an eye out for the French, just in case they decided to follow them and drive them back even farther, when a messenger galloped up, bringing his horse to a sharp halt in front of Colborne.

"They're attacking all up and down the line between the two castles," the man reported. "You have orders to move to the defence of your quarters as soon as you can."

Harry paled a fraction under the tan he still sported in spite of the season, and Colborne felt dread creeping up on him as well. If they were launching an attack that put their castles in danger, letting Smith get the brigade any sooner wouldn't have made any difference – in fact, leaving the brigade in the castle might have helped defend it – but that was hardly any consolation for the fact that he had misjudged the enemy movements based on intelligence gleaned from informants he had been told – and repeatedly so – were unreliable.

Shaking off the thoughts, he nodded to the man. "Understood," he said curtly.

Taking that as a dismissal, the soldier wheeled his horse and raced off, presumably to find the next officer to relay orders to.

"Smith," Colborne snapped at Harry, tearing the younger man out of his thoughts, which – judging from his facial expression – were growing increasingly frantic. "We have to take back our position before we can ride down to the castle. We are quite cut off where we are now. So get the men lined up and ready to advance."

Visibly jerking back into the present, Harry gave a curt nod. "Yes, Colonel," he returned, his horse already moving while Colborne started his now-familiar juggling of reins and sword.

He had practiced it out of battle, where hopefully no one could watch: drawing with his left while his right kept the reins from slipping, then swapping reins and sword in a precarious manoeuver where he was at some risk of dropping either or both until finally his reins were in his good hand and the sword in his right.

He thought he could do it pretty fluidly now, though Torche's concerned look as she hovered nearby and the tightening of Alexander's body around his upper arm suggested that at least some of his elementals didn't agree.

Glancing back to make sure his men were ready to follow, Colborne touched his spurs to his horse's sides, advancing step by step on the French that were probably settling into his men's old positions now.

At least he didn't sense any magic active among the French. This battle would be fought at a purely physical level.

They had almost reached the ridge that shielded them from the view of the French when a flurry of insubstantial wings startled him.

The Raven touched down on his unoccupied shoulder, digging claws of air through the fabric of his coat and into the flesh beneath. _Hurry up, Colonel_ , he croaked into Colborne's ear, the quality of his voice almost making the man wince. _The French have taken your quarters. You better take them back if you don't want to spend the winter in tents – or possibly in the open, since they probably got your tents as well._

The voice was the Elemental's but the tone was very clearly the Field Marshal's. Colborne didn't have time to ponder the implications of that, though given Harry's information that a Master could use his affinities, Air being Fire's major one and Wellington being essentially a Fire Master turned cold, he shouldn't have been too surprised.

Would he share the information on how to turn Air Elementals into reliable messengers if asked?

Colborne banished the thought, focusing instead on his task. The French couldn't possibly keep their castle!

Twisting his wrist in a painful manner to make it at least seem as if he was raising his word, Colborne gave the command to charge.

*

Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley, the Marquess of Wellington, was riding down the lines, convincing himself in person that they had taken back every last position that had been lost to the French earlier that day.

There had been quite some fighting all up and down the stretch of land between their castles for hours. They had prevailed in the end and taken back what had been theirs, though at some cost.

Wherever he looked, Wellington saw the earth give birth to new creatures that didn't belong, that shouldn't have ever been there. One of them was sidling up to their little group, targeting the horse of one of the younger members of Wellington's current entourage.

The man wasn't a Master, or a mage, or even gifted in the least. While he was entirely oblivious to the foul thing that was drawing near to him, his horse was not. The animal tried to move away, though it was quickly kept in check by a hard tug on the reins and a muttered curse.

Suppressing a shudder, the Field Marshal extended his power, spearing the misshapen glob of reddish brown Earth magic with a lance of Ice as invisible to the other man as the threat that had just approached him.

The Elemental screeched in his mind before it froze and shattered, breaking into a myriad of little pieces that seeped into the spoiled earth.

Wellington glanced at the man riding next to him. Their eyes met in mute understanding. Masters of Ice and Air respectively, they were brothers in law that their shared duty in the war had long turned into friends.

"And there I’d hoped we'd spend the winter on unsoiled ground," the other man sighed.

The commander of all the British forces on the continent shrugged. "Too late now," he noted, keeping his voice so low that only the two of them could hear. "Unless you can find an Earth Master to cleanse the land for us."

"The village might—" the younger man stopped in mid-sentence as he frowned and squinted at a commotion a little way off to the side.

Following his line of sight, Wellington urged his horse forward, trotting over to where three men in the green coats of the riflemen were trying and failing to catch hold of a flurry of white feathers.

"And what," he asked, his voice dry and entirely bereft of the amusement that a close friend like his brother in law might recognise in his eyes, "do you think you're doing here?"

The men stopped their chase and stood up straight, one blushing furiously, the others clearly made nervous by the sudden appearance of their supreme commander.

"We're not plundering, Sir!" one of them hurried to inform him.

Wellington regarded him with raised eyebrows. "Looked to me like you were chasing that goose," he observed.

"No Sir! I mean, yes, Sir!" another one of them answered quickly. "We were. But not to plunder! Why, he's clearly on the way to being fattened for a proper Christmas dinner, isn't he? So he must belong to someone, but he's so far away from the village, we figured he must have gotten lost in the commotion earlier. We were just going to take him back!"

"Were you?" Doubt was heavy in Wellington's voice. In fact, he was quite convinced that, had they caught the goose, he would have met a very untimely end at their swords. "You're not going to catch him like that, though."

As he finished the sentence, he slid his feet out of the stirrups and dismounted, landing lightly next to his horse and handing the reins to his brother in law, the only one of their group who had accompanied him while the others waited and watched, before closing the distance between them and the soldiers on foot.

"Stand aside," he commanded. "I'll show you how it's done."

The goose had stopped his flapping and squawking the moment he had first heard Wellington's voice. He was now standing off to the side, regarding his human friend with his head cocked slightly to one side, apparently unsure of what to make of the situation.

Wellington approached the goose, stopping just a few steps short of him when he saw the long neck start to move back and forth, the bird obviously unsure of whether he could still trust the man who usually had some tasty treat or another for him but seemed to have come with sadly empty hands today.

Crouching down, the man extended one of those towards the bird.

"Come here, Arthur," he said, his voice low, beckoning to the goose. "There's a good boy. You don't want to stay and play with these good soldiers – I promise you, army fare is not the kind of thing you’d like to eat. Come now, my friend. I'll find something good for you… there you go."

Arthur the Goose had waddled a few steps closer, slowly extending his head until the Field Marshal could reach out and rest his hand on against the side of his beak, then his head.

Wellington scratched the white feathers, running his fingers down the sleek neck – the only thing about the bird that could still be called sleek, really – before scooping up the goose in the same fluid motion that brought him back into an upright position.

"That wasn't so difficult," he pointed out as he walked back to his horse, Arthur held closely against his chest with both arms as the bird started to consider that he might like his freedom back after all.

If the soldiers had hoped that their commander would actually hand over his prey and trust them to return it to its rightful owner, though, they were sadly mistaken.

Passing them by, Wellington hoisted Arthur up onto his brother-in-law's horse. "There, Ned," he told him as he took back his own horse's reins. "Hold on to him and take him back to Arcangues. Put him in my room and give him something to eat, and make sure the window's closed. Don't want to lose him again." He scratched the top of Arthur's head once more as the goose tried to find his balance on the front of the saddle. "Now be a good boy, Arthur, and do as Ned says."

The goose gave a squawk in return, and Wellington nodded to him as if he had actually said something reasonable before he remounted. "Thank you for keeping him occupied," he told the soldiers, pretending not to realise that he had just deprived them of a special and particularly enjoyable dinner.

Without waiting for a response, he rode back to his other companions, trusting that Ned would take care of the goose as ordered.

"Idiot," he heard one of the soldiers hiss to another as he departed. "We almost ate Old Douro's goose!"

"We would have had to catch him first," one of the others replied sullenly. "Besides, he didn't have a sign on him saying he was Douro's Christmas dinner or anything."

Well, not quite, Wellington thought as he rode away. And maybe not a Christmas Dinner at all - whether Arthur had had the sense to run from the Castle when the French had taken it, or actually been taken as booty and escaped when they were driven from the Castle again, as far as he was concerned that goose had earned his pardon.


	28. Chapter 28

Colborne stood and stared at the room they had been sharing.

The French had only held their castle for maybe half a day, but they had not wasted that time.

They had been everywhere, wreaking chaos in their rooms, searching and spreading their things. Returning everything to its proper owners and figuring out what had been lost and stolen and what had merely been dragged elsewhere would take days.

Tom Fane was kneeling on the ground, trying to collect his possessions that were spilled there and cursing under his breath.

Juana was staring mutely and what remained of their home, the beds overturned, the table lying on its side, one leg splintered, household items strewn on top of everything and spilling into the hallway.

Colborne's always scant wardrobe had been pulled out and searched for valuables, it appeared. He could already imagine his servant's grumbling at being expected to fix all the new tears, followed by Juana's scolding about the inferior work. Still, he couldn't possibly ask her to do it. She would have quite enough to do to fix her and Harry's own clothes.

He hadn't seen their Christmas dinner since they'd returned, which didn't bode well. Usually, the only reason for Arthur not to attach himself to one of them the moment they entered the castle was if their Field Marshal was already there.

Another member of their little group was missing as well: Juana's little dog Vitty, usually never very far from her. When she had fled the castle earlier to avoid capture by the French, she hadn't had the time to look for the pug.

She had been putting on a brave face since their return, trying to pretend she didn't mind, that all that counted was that Harry, and Tom – both Toms – and also he, Colborne, were safe.

After another moment to collect herself, the woman set to work, starting by collecting whatever pieces of clothing were lying around and stacking them on the mattress she and Harry slept on. Since the camp beds were rather on the narrow side for two, sleeping on the floor was a regular occurrence for them. Colborne had to admit that the Smith's bed had the benefit of being a lot harder to overturn.

Where was Antonio when he needed him? The servant's extra pair of hands would have been quite useful right now, Colborne thought as he started to wrestle his own bed upright again, only to find that there was too much clutter on the ground to put it down. He dropped it back where it had been.

On second thought, though, maybe it was just as well that Antonio was busy helping – or hiding – elsewhere. Having another person working in the room might have been just a bit too much.

"No, Enrique," Juana's voice cut through the silence. It had a decisive tone to it that brooked no argument. "I don't need your help here. You go and give our dear Colborne a hand with his things. Really, now – you'd let him handle the furniture all on his own with his bad shoulder!"

"Juana…" Harry tried to object.

She straightened up, staring her husband down with all the fire of a Master flashing in her eyes. "You go and help your colonel!"

Colborne was looking fixedly at the floor to hide his smirk when Harry came over. Of course he didn't need the help. He had had enough time to get used to his limitations, and straightening a camp bed was something that wouldn't have been particularly hard to do even during the early days. Still, ordering Harry about tended to lift Juana's spirits quite a lot, and Colborne didn't mind being the excuse for that.

He also got some amusement of his own out of the situation, as Harry fidgeted before him, apparently assuming that his lack of a reaction meant that he had been so deeply in thought that he hadn't noticed their exchange.

"Colonel," he said eventually, while Colborne busied himself clearing enough of the floor to put his bed back where it belonged. "Can I give you a hand?" he dropped his voice to a whisper, hopefully not audible to Juana over the noise she was making collecting dishware and sorting it into stacks of broken, still usable and mostly undamaged. "Because according to my lady wife you are apparently an invalid who needs help, and she's not going to be amused if I return to her side without having helped you."

Colborne looked up, a cheerful twinkle in his eyes and a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Very well, Smith," he said. "If that's how it is, let's get this bed set up again so we have something to put things on. Then we can clear room for the table."

"We should just throw the table out," Harry suggested as he gave Colborne's bed another try. This time there actually was enough room on the floor. The bedframe snapped into place, wobbled briefly and then came to a rest. "It's only taking up space, and we don't eat in here anyway."

That was true. There wasn't enough room in the room to put up chairs around the table without folding up the beds first.

"Don't you dare throw out the table!" Juana called over without interrupting her work. "Men! You only think of eating and sleeping! You never consider that maybe there's housework that needs a table, too! Have you ever thought about where your clothes would get ironed if the table wasn't here? Have you? Well, I'll tell you what – You'd have to wear your shirts all wrinkled up if we didn't have the table!"

The men exchanged a quick, mute look that did not remain unnoticed.

"Men!" Juana repeated, her voice growing more exasperated with every sentence. "You wouldn't even mind that, would you? Well, I mind, and the table stays!"

"I wasn't serious about throwing out the table anyway," Harry muttered, much to Colborne's now-undisguised amusement.

"Well, come on, _Enrique_ ," the Colonel told him, pushing some debris out of the way with his boot. "If the table stays it's got to go right-side up again."

*

Their room was far from sorted when they were called to dinner, but the promise of food was too tempting to pass up.

"Poor Arthur!" Juana remarked when they were sitting down with the other officers. "The French surely carried him off and are now roasting him on a spit! He deserved better than that."

"Yes," Harry's brother confirmed from across the table, his words a little unclear around a mouthful of food. "Such as being carved up for our Christmas meal!"

Juana glared at him, though whether it was for speaking before swallowing or for reminding her that they had actually been intending to eat the bird as well was impossible to tell.

"Maybe it's all for the best," Colborne remarked. "I'm not sure I would have wanted to eat him anyway. He was getting to be quite a member of the family."

"It would have felt very wrong to eat someone called _Arthur_ ," Harry agreed.

Juana stabbed her fork at him. "You never liked that name!" she accused. "But it's a _good_ name. Even the Field Marshal said so."

About to answer, Harry was interrupted by the appearance of a soldier in the doorway.

The man wearing the insignia and equipment of a bugler stopped just inside the room and let his eyes roam the length of the table.

"Looking for someone?" he was asked after a moment.

"Mrs Smith," the man replied. His face broke into a wide smile when he spotted Juana sitting between Harry and Colborne.

Walking quickly around the table, he made his way over to her and sketched a bow.

"Do we know each other?" Juana asked, slightly confused. She did know all of the officers and many of the soldiers at least by sight, but she could not fathom at all why this particular one would be looking for her.

"No, lady," the man admitted. "But I think you know him." Reaching into his knapsack, he pulled out a bundle of fur that sniffed the air, sneezed and gave a single yip.

Juana's face lit up at the sight. "Vitty!" she exclaimed, reaching out for the dog to take him in her arms. "Where did you find him?"

"Came across him when we were leaving earlier," the bugler told her with a grin. "Figured it was safer for him to ride along with me than to stay. He was missing you somewhat fiercely, though."

"And I him!" Juana declared, scratching the little dog's head affectionately with one hand while taking a piece of meat with her other to feed him. "Please - won't you sit down and eat with us? You'll be my guest for returning Vitty to me!"

The bugler looked uncertainly at the men sitting next to her. Captain Smith he might have been able to deal with, but Colonel Colborne was quite another matter. "I don't think…" he started.

"Oh, but of course," Colborne cut in, shifting his chair a little to make space for the man. "Do find a chair and sit down. There is quite enough for everyone."

*

They might have taken a break from tidying up to have their dinner, but the brownies had done no such thing, as Colborne realised when they returned to their room. The place now looked as though the French had never been there to begin with. Everything was neatly put away where it belonged again. Even without looking, Colborne was almost certain that the tears in their clothes would be mended with tiny, near-invisible stitching by morning.

They called it an early night, though Colborne and Tom lay down without even taking off their boots, knowing fully well that they might be called to arms again in the middle of the night. Harry hadn't come back with them after dinner, instead going to see to the posting the sentries for the night.

They never heard him sneak back in a while later, and silently slip into his bed, like the others entirely without undressing.

They most certainly heard him, though, when a few hours later, he suddenly surged up from his sleep, yelling out in a voice as if he was trying to alert the entire brigade from their bedroom: "Stand to your arms!"

As the familiar call penetrated Colborne's sleep, the Colonel surged up, thankful in a corner of his half-asleep mind that he hadn't bothered to do anything that bordered on undressing.

Alexander slipped from where he was curled around Colborne's shoulder at the sudden and unannounced change of position, though he caught himself quickly enough and scampered inside his friend's jacket from below, a streak of warmth chasing up Colborne's upper body outside his shirt before he clung back on to his shoulder.

From the corner of his eye, Colborne saw a brownie race out from under Tom Fane's bed. Barely escaping being crushed by a boot that came down unsuspectingly, it merged into a crack in the wall, disappearing from sight.

Ugly Tom had commented on how the Castle servants managed to tidy up their room in the most impossible moments before, and even as he prepared to dash outside himself to lead the defence of their position, Colborne wondered what he'd say if he noticed that _someone_ had been tidying under his bed in the night.

On the other hand, the Smiths were less than careful doing their magic around Tom Fane, so he might just as well be aware that there was a little more going on than he could readily see, and would just take it, like so many other things, in stride if he were to learn the precise details of it.

Colborne reached for his sword, put next to his bed outside of its scabbard to avoid unfortunate accidents born from bad dreams that might cause him to expose the blade as well as to make it faster to draw in a situation precisely like this.

The weapon came to meet his hand half-way, some Elemental Colborne didn't recognise attached to the bottom end of it and hoisting it up towards him.

He sent a silent thank you that way, just as he started to notice that there was something off.

If Harry had come to wake them, he should have been standing in the doorway, the door thrown open, people already rushing outside in the corridors.

That, however, was not the case. Smith was standing with his sword drawn alright, but he was poised just next to his own bed. The door was firmly closed, and while Colborne could hear commotion in rooms adjacent to theirs, there was little noise from the hallway.

Juana was blinking up at Harry. Her eyes wide with confusion as she shook off sleep.

The only bed where there had been no movement at all had been Tom Smith's. Its usual occupant was already outside, watching over the sentries.

Harry, ready to rush outside one moment, frowned, looked around, and suddenly acquired a sheepish expression.

Beginning to suspect what might have happened, Colborne lowered his sword. "Well, Smith?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry answered in a slightly subdued voice. "I fear I've been dreaming…"

Colborne managed to keep his smirk from becoming a chuckle. "Nice to know you're alert whether you're awake or not." He glanced at the window. "At least we got a few hours of sleep already tonight. Well, go and tell our neighbours they can go back to bed, then," he suggested. "They'll hate having rushed outside to find it's all a prank, and they'll know where it came from."

"It wasn't a prank, Sir," Harry assured him. "It was a dream."

"I know," Colborne said, his voice placating. "But they won't unless you tell them, so go."

As Harry walked over to the door to do as he was bid, Colborne sat back down on his bed, carefully putting his sword within arm's reach again.

Juana turned over with a wordless groan, pulling her blanket over her head as she did so, while Tom rolled his eyes and climbed back into bed, also turning to face the wall.

Colborne stretched out on his bed again, and this time Alexander followed the movement smoothly and without being displaced. Once they were settled again, the Salamander crept upwards a fraction to rub his muzzle gently against the side of Colborne's neck, as if trying to apologise for his earlier blunder.

Sending reassuring thoughts to his friend, Colborne closed his eyes against the flickering light of the fire and waited for Harry's return.

The younger man crept back in after a few minutes, having reassured the men who occupied the rooms adjacent to theirs that nothing terrible had happened and surely taken his share of good-natured teasing in return.

As Harry slid back into bed, not even bothering to try and reclaim his blanket from his wife, Colborne couldn't quite resist adding some of his own.

"So, Smith," he said softly into the darkness once Harry had settled. "Is it not enough for you that the French keep us on our feet through the day and well into the night? Are you yearning for another engagement so much that they follow you into your dreams even?"

"I wasn't even really dreaming of an attack on us," Harry admitted, speaking in an equally low voice that nevertheless carried well across the room in the silence. "I was dreaming of my home."

Colborne turned his head to look at Harry across the room. With the fire lit through the night, it wasn't really dark. There was a tension in the younger officer's posture that couldn't be explained by anticipation of the next day's teasing over his nightly misadventure – especially not in Harry Smith, who was more likely to just join in the other men's laughter and add a few helpful comments of his own. "I wasn't aware your home was so terrifying." Colborne tried to keep his tone light-hearted, but he couldn't quite manage to quell a feeling of dread.

Ever since Juana's prediction about the death of either Harry or his horse had come true, he had acquired a healthy respect for a Master's dreams and premonitions. If Harry had dreamed of an attack on England, vividly enough to make him call the alarm – who knew what it might herald?

"It isn't," Harry confirmed. "But I did dream they were under attack, and that Father carried Mother out of the house by the back door. It was a most vivid dream and…"

"The French will never make it there," Colborne said, putting all the reassurance that he could into his voice. They were losing after all, Wellington's army advancing consistently and gaining more and more ground on them before they had moved into winter quarters.

"Colonel," Tom Fane's voice sounded through the darkness. "If you don't mind a great deal, could you continue this come morning? I'm sure Harry's dream was most fascinating but some of us would like to get some more sleep."

"Mind your tone, Tom," Harry snapped in his friend's direction. "That's our Colonel you're talking to."

"Our Colonel prefers his Aide-de-Camp somewhat rested," Tom claimed.

Colborne almost laughed. "So he does," he admitted, amusement clear in his voice. "Smith, you heard my Aide-de-Camp. Go back to sleep. There's still time to talk about dreams and likelihoods in the morning, but we'll hardly get a chance to catch up on the sleep we're missing now then. Good night."

"I'm really quite awake now," Harry noted. "Maybe I should go and have a look at the sentries anyway."

"Enrique!" That was Juana's exasperated mutter. "Just go back to sleep."

"You know," Colborne spoke up again. "This reminds me of my school – my second school. If someone managed to wake up the dorm at night, there would—"

Three voices interrupted him as one, covering the entire range from sleepily annoyed to deeply amused. "Colonel! Good night!"


	29. Chapter 29

Colborne didn't get the chance to talk to Harry about his dream the next morning.

In fact, he was woken by a still-tired looking Captain Smith unsuccessfully trying to sneak outside, his boots in one hand and sword in the other.

"Having a look at the sentries," he mouthed at Colborne when he saw his commanding officer was awake. "It's been too calm all night."

 _Apart from our little interruption thanks to you,_ Colborne thought, but nodded mutely at Harry. The sun wasn't up yet. Juana still seemed asleep, and Tom Fane was either making a very good imitation of sound – and noisy – sleep, or still deeply immersed in dreams of his own.

With his brigade major taking care of the sentries, the Colonel turned away from the fireplace, where the Smiths' Salamanders were still keeping up the flames, to make the best of what time he got to rest.

He wasn't left to doze for very long, though.

Harry hadn't been gone for long when Juana stirred, throwing off her blanket and her husband's and following up by tossing a pillow across the room at Tom Fane.

Her aim was better than that of most soldiers, and the snoring ceased immediately.

A moment later, Colborne felt a soft projectile hit the back of his head.

Without moving more than absolutely necessary, he reached out with his left hand, catching hold of a corner of the errant pillow and incorporating it into his own sleeping arrangements, just as if he had every intention to stay asleep.

He listened to the footsteps as Juana crossed the room.

"That's my pillow, dear!" She announced.

Imagining her standing there with one hand held out to receive her property back, Colborne couldn't help a grin that was thankfully concealed by his now-improved bed.

"Give it back!" Juana demanded.

Colborne drew his blanket a little tighter around himself in response.

A moment later, a small hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him decisively. "Colborne!"

"Hey!" Colborne protested, giving his best impression of sleepiness while Alexander dashed into the safer harbour of his collar. "Ouch. Careful with that shoulder."

He half-turned, looking up into Juana's blazing eyes. "Your shoulder is _fine_ ," she snarled, confirming her words with a slap against the body part in question. "My pillow, Colborne."

"What'll your husband say if he hears you're hitting your commanding officer?" Colborne wanted to know.

"His commanding officer, not mine," Juana pointed out. "I want my pillow back."

Turning his head, Colborne studied the desired object as if he was just seeing it for the first time. "I wonder how that got into my bed," he claimed, though he had to fight to keep a straight face.

"Tom threw it," Juana supplied readily. "Give it back now." She reached out to tug on a corner she could get her hand on.

"And why is Tom throwing your pillow at me?" Colborne wanted to know. He rolled over without giving Juana an opportunity to get it out from under him.

"He probably thought it was yours." Juana was now pushing at Colborne with both hands again, trying to get him to move off of the prize.

"It was in my bed," Tom explained, not bothering to keep a straight face. "Though I have no idea how it got _there_. It just came sailing through the air and smacked me right in the face."

Juana whirled around to stare at Tom Fane. "You were snoring!" She accused him.

"I did no such thing!" the man claimed, his tone so outraged that it was impossible to tell if he truly believed so or was merely pretending to.

"Captain?" Colborne said cautiously. "You might want to reconsider that statement. You may have been heard by more than one."

Tom laughed, while Juana glared back at Colborne. "You've been awake the entire time!"

"I didn’t say that!" Colborne defended himself. "And I didn't throw any pillows either. This one came visiting me all without my doing. It's now a prisoner of war and will stay here until ransomed." He managed to keep a straight face as he said it, through barely.

Juana tugged one last time at the exposed corner before giving up. "A ransom, eh?" she asked, her eyes lighting up as she noticed something.

Lightning-fast, she reached around Colborne and snatched up the Colonel's own pillow, lying abandoned between him and the wall.

"There. I have my own prisoner of war now." She returned to her own bed, tossing down the new pillow and promptly sitting on it.

"Also, the sun is almost up," she pointed out with a glance towards the window, changing the subject seemingly no longer caring about the pillow matter anymore at all. "You should be out and about and doing something. Both of you."

"I should ask the Field Marshal if he doesn't have some rank for you, Juanita," Colborne chuckled, but he did sit up on the edge of his bed, getting ready to face the day.

"He might!" Juana declared.

Colborne didn't quite dare object. Wellington did, in fact, seem quite impressed by Harry's wife, and while there certainly was no risk of her being assigned an actual military rank, Colborne had little desire to find out what kinds of ways she might come up with to convince him that he should.

"I'll collect my horse and get to work, then," he said instead, abandoning his bed with a brief motion for Tom to follow.

*

The weather was cool, though not freezing yet, the pre-dawn sky cloudy and promising rain.

Rain, Colborne mused, would not be the worst thing. Rain made it hard to mount an attack. Bad weather would give them a badly needed respite.

Even though they had taken back their home quickly enough, the chaos the French had left in their wake had done nothing to boost his men's morale. He hadn't heard of how exactly Wellington's Chateau de Arcangues had fared yet, but he did know that there had been considerable fighting down there as well.

He rode down the lines of his men now, stopping here and there to exchange a few words, offer some encouragement or praise. He listened when the men talked, and he made mental notes of who had distinguished himself even if it had happened where he had been unable to observe.

His phoenixes were trailing behind him, as usual, unfazed by the weather. If anything, they were glowing a bit more brightly against the clouds, until it seemed to Colborne as if even those not talented in magic should be able to see them.

In fact, he thought he saw some of the men frown in the Elementals' direction before mutely shaking their heads. Were those among the weakly gifted who might perceive the presence of Elementals without being able to do anything with them?

The sound of distant gunfire forced his thoughts into a different direction, and he wheeled his horse to investigate.

As always, the roads where his picquets were set up were barricaded, making it harder for the enemy to advance. There was Harry, dismounted next to their men, directing the defence as the French kept shooting from their own cover.

Torche and Flambeau had moved up closer as Colborne drew near the shooting, circling him tightly now so that he saw most of the world around him through translucent phoenix feathers. Interesting, how he’d hardly realised it in the midst of battle, but now it was quite difficult to ignore.

Relying on the phoenixes' protection, Colborne raised himself up in his stirrups, trying to see beyond the French lines. Quick glances through his spyglass on the way over had shown him that the camps farther back were going about their daily business without any sign of preparing for an attack, so unless he had suddenly turned as incapable of reading signs as the Elementals were, they were facing an isolated attack, a single commander going on his own to – what? Distinguish himself by making a few prisoners?

"Colonel!" he heard Smith shout from behind the barricades. "Get off of that horse and back here! "I have no idea what they think they're doing, but you'll be shot any moment!"

Colborne couldn’t help a laugh as Torche glided back into his field of vision from the left. Had Harry forgotten that he, too, had Elemental protectors now?

"Colonel!" Harry's voice was growing sharper.

He turned to look at the younger man, just as Torche surged forward with a burst of speed, jerking up a wing that was now almost opaque as if to deflect a blow.

Colborne felt a hard slap against his cap, though not enough to dislodge it from his head.

Torche wheeled and gave him a hard lash with tail feathers almost hot enough to burn. It was as clear a reproach as if she had spoken out lout.

With a quick touch of his spurs, Colborne steered his horse behind the barricades, sliding out of the saddle the moment they had cleared the road.

"That was a narrow escape, Sir!" one of the men remarked, pointing at the bullet hole in his cap.

"They must have thought I was taller," Colborne laughed as he turned to Harry, who was glaring at him darkly. "They aren't launching a general attack," he reported. "The men in their camp aren't under arms. This is just an attempt at getting this post, for whatever reason."

"They'll have it, too," Harry grumbled. "We need more rifles."

Jerking his head in the direction of Harry's horse, Colborne stepped forward to trade places with his Brigade Major. "Go and get some."

Harry acknowledged the command only by a brief gesture before he jumped onto his horse, the animal surging into motion before his rider had even gotten his right foot all the way over his back.

With the ease of many years of practice, Smith hit his saddle bent low over his mount's neck, offering as small a target for the shots that were still flying across the road as possible while his phoenixes circled around him.

Even as Colborne directed the defence, he couldn't help but notice the phoenixes standing off to either side, glaring at him with gazes no less displeased than Harry's had been.

What was going on with everyone there?

Harry's horse must have grown wings and flown part of the way, judging by how quickly he was back, riding at the head of green-clad riflemen pining for some action.

The French spotted them almost at the same moment as Colborne did, dividing their attention - and their ammunition – between Colborne's picquet and Harry's fresh rifles.

One ball found its mark, as evidenced by a pained exclamation and a brief halting in the lines, then another.

Harry must have given permission to fire at will after that, for the riflemen rushed forward, giving back as good as they got.

The enemy scored a few more hits, but rather than dampening the defenders' spirit, they now seemed to serve only to rally them and drive them to more enthusiastic retaliation.

Before long, they pressed forward, driving the French back behind their own barricades and following to engage them.

Harry brought his horse to a stop beside Colborne. "I don't know those men," he noted. "I thought I knew all the French officers we had in front of our noses by sight now. They must all be new."

Colborne looked at the younger man with raised eyebrows. "Sounds likely," he admitted. "Our old French friends would have known better than to try us like this. Look there, we'll have them in a moment – and maybe a few prisoners to show for our trouble."

Sure enough, the fighting soon ceased, the French retreating a little farther to lick their wounds while Colborne's riflemen spread out between the picquets, sticking around just in case the enemy thought to attempt another attack.

None of them could help a grin as they overheard a prisoner mutter under his breath about how no one had warned them that the tales of British prowess were more than just that in this corner of the war.

"Well?" Colborne asked as they were standing together in a quiet corner, watching and alert but quite safe for the moment. "Out with it. What is it you're trying not to yell at me for?"

Harry turned, confusion clouding his eyes only for a fraction of a second.

"You," he hissed, low enough to not be overheard by anyone and stabbing a finger at Colborne's chest. "You have grown careless. You think those phoenixes make you bullet-proof. You stand out there in the middle of the road and let them shoot at you, and you rely on their protection. They don't work like that, Colborne! They do protect us but they don't make us invulnerable. I got a shot in my ankle with two of them around me, and I wasn't exposing myself. It just happened because they can't be everywhere at once, and they can't predict where a ball will go. They need time to react. Oh, they're faster than you or I, but they still need some time. I saw that one ball deflected at the last instant. If your girl had been a moment later, you'd be lying on the ground cold and dead now. You know it. They know it."

They did. They had never stopped being bristly all morning.

"You don't expose yourself like that," Harry went on, lowering his voice again after letting it rise a bit towards the end of his lecture. "You welcome them as extra protection but you still have to take care of yourself. They're just an _addition_ , not some kind of shield or armour that keeps you safe. Understood?"

Properly chastised, Colborne nodded. "Understood," he confirmed. "I'll do better."

 _I'm sorry_ , he sent a message towards his phoenixes, who had been silent in his mind along with their rather annoyed appearance. _Can you forgive me? I_ will _do better. I'm still just a beginner, for all that they call me the Water Dragon._

He felt Torche snort in his mind even as Flambeau, always the more approachable of the two, sidled up to him and reached up with his beak to ruffle his hair.

They were right, of course, he thought. It wasn't right to expect another to keep him safe if he couldn't be bothered to take shelter in the face of musket fire.

Leaning against the barricade, he turned back to Harry. "It won't happen again. I may make stupid mistakes, but I try to keep them down to once a piece."

Smith copied Torche's earlier sound. "Some mistakes only need to be made once to kill you," he pointed out.

Something about that statement seemed to hit more deeply than it should. The Captain's face clouded over as his eyes took on a faraway look as if suddenly lost in memory.

"What is it?" Colborne wanted to know, absently raising a hand to stroke Alexander's head while the Salamander busily tried to comfort his friend in the face of being reprimanded by his friends.

"Nothing," Harry claimed.

Eyebrows raised in a mute question, Colborne waited.

When the other man didn't seem inclined to continue, he hazarded a guess. "Your dream?"

Even without any verbal answer, he could tell that he had hit home.

"Did you dream that I was shot?"

"No." Harry was looking towards the French lines now, but Colborne was quite certain that he wasn't actually seeing anything that went on before him. His mind was quite elsewhere. "I told you, I was dreaming of home."

Nodding, Colborne indicated for Harry to go on.

It took a few seconds, much longer than Harry usually let silence pass without speaking to fill it.

"My parents' house. It was being attacked. It's standing right by the road, you see, and the garden goes out back. The attack came from the front. Father was leaving out back, and he was carrying Mother. She wasn't moving. I heard him tell me to shut the door behind him – or maybe tell someone else, though there wasn't anyone I could see. She was safe now, he said. She didn't look safe."

He turned, looking at his commanding officer. "She didn't even look asleep. She looked dead, Colborne. Still and dead."

Blinking away tears, Harry returned his gaze to the road in front of them as Colborne reached out to squeeze his friend's shoulder in silent comfort.

"That wasn't an ordinary dream," Harry said, his voice hardly above a whisper now. " My mother died last night. I know it here." He briefly touched his jacket over his heart.

Colborne nodded, at a loss for words for the moment. He did not doubt Harry's words in the least. He might not have had any experience with dreams like that, he might have been making stupid beginner's mistakes that could be safely made on a playground but prove fatal on the battlefield if he didn't learn better quickly, but he knew better than to brush off anything that might be even remotely related to the magic he was still not fully in control of.

At the same time, he realised that, just as they couldn't share the Elementals with just everyone, just as even the Brownies had to limit their services to times when Tom Fane was not in a position to see them – that was, either asleep or out of the room –, Harry could not share his knowledge with anyone but him. What would the men say if suddenly condolences were offered without any message having arrived? Had Tom Smith received a similar message? Would he once he managed to get some sleep? Would he remain uninformed because he had been at his post when it had happened, rather than in his bed, snoring along with the rest of them?

Harry couldn't even tell his brother without increasing the risk of giving away that something out of the ordinary had happened.

People might laugh about him putting so much weight on a dream, but they would surely stop laughing once the news arrived – and Colborne had no doubt that it would now. Close to the coast as they still were, it probably wouldn't even take very long.

There was no way that Harry could keep his mind off of the matter, though, he assumed. He certainly wouldn't have been able to do that if their places had been reversed.

"Tell me about her," Colborne suggested.

"Father wrote me a while ago that she wasn't well," Harry said. There was a faraway tone in his voice, as if his mind still was not quite in the present. "I didn't know it was that bad. I didn't know she hadn't gotten better. We have exchanged letters since, but he never mentioned it again."

Heaving a sigh, he forcefully pulled his thoughts away from her death. "She was the best mother I could have ever hoped to have. We're eleven back home – six boys, five girls – and still she was always there when one of us needed her. She always knew when that happened, too, and I tell you it's not just because of her Talent. When she saw me off, when I was joining the army? She asked two things of me – to stay out of billiard rooms and to conduct myself like a proper Englishman in the face of the enemy."

Colborne couldn't help but smile at that. "She'll be proud to know you lived up to both of that," he suggested.

"I certainly hope so," Harry admitted. "I certainly have tried hard. Every time I came home from a war, she was there. She listened to the tales I brought home, the good and the bad. She knew everything I did and she never judged me for it. She made sure I was ready to return to my regiment again after Corunna."

Harry paused, interrupted by a sound half sob and half laugh. "Maybe it's all for the best that I haven't gotten around to writing to her recently. Unless something went very wrong with the mail, the last she heard from me was that I'd been promised a promotion for my conduct in battle."

"She had every reason to be proud of her sons at war," Colborne pointed out.

"I hope so," Harry said. "I certainly hope so."


	30. Chapter 30

Skirmishes continued for a few more days, but they lacked the enthusiasm the first ones had had, seeming more like an attempt to announce that they were still to be taken seriously, in spite of the defeat of their new reinforcements at the first opportunity.

A few days later, the French moved their lines backwards, finally putting an end to the many false alarms at night.

At the same time, the tension between the two armies dropped, and soon the men were seen sneaking back and forth, buying, selling and exchanging goods that one side had and the other lacked.

"Tell the men to be a bit less obvious about it," Colborne warned Harry on one occasion. "It's getting hard not to notice what they're doing – and if I do notice, I shall have to forbid it."

Harry gave him a grin for that order – an expression seen more rarely than usual on his face these days – and went to execute it.

Christmas day was drawing closer quickly now. The loss of Arthur the goose rankled more than they were willing to admit to each other.

It was Harry Smith who finally brought back their enthusiasm for Christmas dinner when, just a few days before the event, he came into their shared room, dusting off his hands with satisfaction. "There," he said as he sat on the bed he shared with his wife – the only one that belonged in the room rather than being a camp issue. "That's taken care of."

"What is?" Juana wanted to know.

"I just saved our Christmas feast," Smith announced, then proceeded to take off his boots as if it were the single-most important activity in the world, about on the level of winning the war single-handedly.

If he had planned to make Juana curious about the details – which he most certainly had – he succeeded. "How?" she asked, sitting on the bed next to him. "What did you do, Enrique? Did you buy a new Arthur?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't even seen a goose for sale since we lost ours," he pointed out. "Those fattening are all intended for other people's Christmas dinners, and we wouldn't have enough time to fatten another one of our own anyway. No, I invited a guest."

Colborne perked up at that. There weren't a great many people whom Harry might have invited who could 'save' their Christmas dinner. He hadn't actually gone and invited Lord Wellington in the hope of his contributing some supplies to the feast, had he?

Well, if he had, Harry surely wouldn't be so triumphant now. Colborne couldn't imagine Wellington possibly agreeing to any such thing. He surely had his own dinner to take care of, with his own staff.

"Who?" Juana pressed, as Harry, instead of answering, closely inspected the state of his socks, which admittedly was not the best. He prodded at a particularly threadbare area, only to receive a sharp slap on his fingers from Juana. "If you tear them you can darn them yourself," she announced. "Who did you invite."

"You darn Colborne's socks," Harry replied, sounding somewhat sulky. "He tears them all the time."

"He doesn’t have a wife around to help him, and his servant does very bad work," Juana declared. "He's going to catch his death if he runs around with holes like those in his socks and you wouldn't want that – would you?"

"Yes, Harry, would you?" Colborne asked, grinning, from his corner of the room. He barely managed not to laugh at the young woman's statement.

He was reprimanded a moment later. "That is not funny," Juana said sternly. "And really, if you had proper control of your servant, I wouldn’t have to do it."

Properly chastised, Colborne ducked his head to hide his expression. He doubted that Antonio even knew how to darn socks. "I'm very thankful for everything you do for me," he assured Juana. "Really, I am. But don't neglect Harry because of me."

"I do not!" Juana snapped. "But sometimes he is a horrible man who makes more work for me just because he feels like it. It is not nice at all. And now he won't even tell me who he invited for Christmas. It is probably no one at all and we will be having bread and cold meat for dinner! That would be terrible!"

"It's the company that counts more than the meal," Colborne tried to reassure her. "I am sure it will be quite a wonderful dinner – with or without whomever Harry invited."

Juana thought about that for a moment, then she nodded resolutely. "Colborne is right!" she declared. "We will have a wonderful dinner anyway, and I do not care who you invited at all."

With that, she got up and back to the work she had previously abandoned, though not without exchanging a wink and a smirk with Colborne while she was turning her back to her husband.

Faced with so much indifference, Harry heaved a sigh.

"Oh well, I'll tell you," he said generously. "The Commissary is coming. He promised to bring us some of the best Champaign he can find.

"Well, I am not sure that Champaign is the proper thing for Christmas," Juana commented without looking up. "But I assume that since we have lost Arthur, it will have to do."

Colborne chuckled at that. "At least we will actually be able to drink the Champaign. I still don't know that either of us could have made himself eat Arthur."

*

Colborne returned from inspecting their picquets, which were quite relaxed these days, but nevertheless attentive enough to spot him coming early enough to make him trust that they would not miss a surprise attack, should the French choose the holiday to renew their efforts.

He didn't think they would, but it was within the realm of the possible. Their own commander in chief would not have desecrated a Sunday or a holiday by launching an attack, but the same, they had learned, could not be said of their enemy.

All was quiet, though, and no amount of staring towards the French lines through his spyglass suggested differently. So he returned to wash up and change, in a good mood and confident that their dinner would not suffer any unpleasant interruptions. He had seen Juana polish up Harry's dress uniform, and took that as a sign that she expected her husband to be properly attired for the occasion. He did not want to let his friend suffer alone, nor did he think that it was quite proper to have the brigade major – and probably the aide-de-camp – show up in their finest if their commanding officer looked like he had just come in from a tour of his outposts.

He found the room empty, his dress uniform laid out ready for him on his bed. That was the brownie's work, he saw the moment he picked it up. Not even Juana could possibly press the folds that sharply or get the buttons to shine like that.

He dressed more slowly than usual. His undress uniform was taking a lot of abuse when he needed to get it on in a hurry, and he didn't really care. Neither Juana nor the brownie complained much about that anymore, and Torche, while keeping an eye on him being properly dressed, didn't seem to extend her sense of aesthetics to such things as tears or seams coming open.

Still, he didn't think either of them would have been too amused if he had done any injury to his best – his only truly good – coat.

"Well, Alexander?" Colborne asked the Salamander, who was watching him closely from where he was basking in front of the banked fire. "Do I look adequate for Harry's great Christmas dinner with the Commissary?"

 _Always_ , the Elemental replied, transferring from his spot to Colborne's shoulder and affectionately wrapping his tail around his human friend's arm even as he spoke. Colborne felt the heat as the Elemental snuggled against the side of his neck. For a moment, he thought he could smell the slightly too-fresh wood someone had thrown into their hearth that morning.

Had Alexander absorbed the smell along with the heat of the fire? He made a mental note to ask Harry.

A moment later, Colborne smiled as he shook his head about his habit of asking the Smiths about every little thing that he noticed about the Elementals. Increasingly often, they were things that no one but him seemed to care about enough to notice.

He wondered if it would have been different if he had grown up knowing about Elementals. Would all those little things be just a matter of course to him as well, not worthy of wasting an idle thought on?

Possibly – or probably even.

As he made his way to the dining room where they were supposed to meet, Colborne entertained himself by imagining what course his life might have taken, had his father not died so young.

He would have grown up a Master's son, seen training in the gifts of his magic as a boy. He might have followed in his father's footsteps, become a merchant – but the business had already been all but ruined, and unless something entirely unexpected had happened, there wouldn't have been much to follow into.

Maybe he would have ended up in a military career after all.

That, however, would surely not have been that of an infantry man.

The navy, he was told, had as many Water Masters as the army had Fire ones.

It made sense. There was nothing more helpful on a ship than being able to handle water in the way that a fully trained Master was supposed to – a degree of Mastery that he was still far from attaining.

He would never have been part of the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo, never been hit by that musket ball and not have spent the next eighteen months recovering.

Of course that was beside the point. War was war, on water as on land, and he would most likely have been wounded elsewhere, maybe worse than he had been, maybe even killed.

Alexander pressed himself more tightly against Colborne's collar, letting him feel the Elemental's heat even through the fabric of shirt and coat.

Reaching up with his left hand, he scratched the Elemental's head.

He certainly wouldn't have made friends with a Salamander on board of a ship.

Growing up within the confines of established magic, he would never even have considered the possibility. He wanted to believe that he would still have stepped in when seeing an elemental be abused by his master the way Alexander had been, but he couldn't be sure.

Quite the opposite, actually – if he had been used to treating elementals as objects since childhood, he might not have seen anything more wrong with it than there would be in slapping a table-top in anger.

All in all, he decided that he quite liked the outcome as it was.

The others were already waiting for him, both Smith men and Tom Fane in dress uniform like himself, Juana wearing her finest gown. Colborne almost gaped at her. This was not the girl who was sharing their camp, a woman ready to live like a soldier and never complaining about the hardships that come with it.

Today, Juana was a lady, higher-born than all of them taken together, well-versed in the secrets of social affairs – or as much so as she could be with the limitations her age and the war had set for her experience.

His expression changed to one of quickly concealed amusement when he spotted his servant waiting in a corner. Apparently, Antonio had been pressed into serving whatever they had managed to acquire for the meal. The Calabrian looked anything but pleased at his fortune, and Juana's frequent. brief but scalding glances his way suggested that there had been some discussion about the matter already.

Colborne slid into the chair that was apparently intended for him, presiding over the table at its head, where he was seated between Juana to his left and Tom Fane to his right.

As if on cue, Harry's servant stepped forward to fill their glasses.

He hadn't promised too much – this was Champaign, wherever it had come from.

The Commissary, placed some way down the table between the other guests Harry had seen fit to invite, looked very smug as he lifted his glass daintily by the stem.

"A toast," Colborne said, rising to his feet again with his glass in his hand. "To our dear Harry Smith, who went to great lengths to make this dinner happen."

A few of the smiles around the table were a little strained as they raised their glasses and drank to Harry. Too many of them knew quite well that Smith had had every reason to have other things on his mind over the last two weeks than organising a Christmas dinner.

Barely five days after the night in which he had started awake and woken all of them as well, he and Tom had received letters from their father, confirming what they already knew. It didn't come as a surprise to either of them. Colborne had never asked how Tom had learned, but the look he saw the brothers exchange when they returned to the chateau on the day of the thwarted attack told him that the younger Smith did not need to be informed of Harry's nightly message.

Though unsurprising, the definite news had hit them both hard. Juana had tried to console her husband as best she could, but Harry hadn't been quite his usual self since.

Maybe throwing himself into getting the dinner ready had been one way for him to cope, to distract himself from the knowledge of what had happened back home.

As it was, what had originally been planned as a meal shared by their little circle of friends only, had turned into a decent-sized affair with guests invited wherever Harry could find them. The Commissary, Colborne realised, was probably the only reason he had managed to procure enough supplies for it – though he had a hunch that the head servant who had lent them her brownies might not be entirely innocent either.

Harry wasn't about to let concerns about his well-being ruin the meal, though. Quite in his usual flamboyant way, he raised his own glass in Colborne's direction.

"And to our Colonel!" he shouted, a little louder than may have been necessary in the room. "The best we could hope to have for a brigadier!"

Glasses were raised again, accompanied by the clatter of several men getting to their feet to do so.

Colborne took the opposite direction, sitting down again and putting his Champaign on the table. "Stop the nonsense and let's eat!" he commanded, though his face felt unusually hot and he feared that a mirror would have shown him a very un-soldierly blush at that moment.

Luckily, no one challenged his orders, and it didn't take long for the table to buzz with conversation.

The food was surprisingly good. Thinking back for a moment, Colborne decided that the last time that he had had a meal worthy of being compared to this one had been his own wedding.

That brought other thoughts to his mind.

What was his wife doing now? Probably enjoying Christmas in the circle of her extended family. Was she thinking of him?

With him being at war, they had not had a lot of time together since their first meeting, less since the day they had gotten engaged. Their marriage, which Colborne would have liked to put off until after the war, had taken place during his sick leave at the insistence of Elizabeth's guardian and uncle. She hadn't minded becoming a married woman, even though she would have to do without her husband for quite a while - and no one could really be sure for how long –, pointing out that there were plenty of women in just the same situation in England these days.

At some point, though, the war _would_ be over, and Colborne had started to dread that day. The more he got used to his magic, the more the prospect of having to conceal it from his wife, possibly from all the family he would ever have, made him feel uneasy. Could he go back to pretending magic did not exist, or would he end up praying for another military deployment that would take him far away, where he could share the company of Masters and Mages and not worry about giving away too much by accident?

He was still lost in those thoughts, when he realised that Antonio was talking to him.

"Excuse me," he said as he forcefully pulled himself back into the present. "I was a bit preoccupied. What did you say?"

The servant tsked and repeated, speaking somewhat more slowly and precisely than usual as if he thought his employer had suddenly taken partial leave of his senses.

"There is a messenger from Old Douro outside wanting to be let in," he said.

"That's Lord Wellington for you," Colborne corrected, though he couldn't help a grin.

"No, Sir," Antonio assured him earnestly. "It's just a messenger."

Colborne studied the man for a moment, trying to determine whether he was trying to be funny. His face looked innocent enough, in that slightly vacant way that the Colonel knew for a fact was an act to get out of those parts of his work that might have required more exertion than he liked. Was there a twinkle in his eye?

If there had been, it was gone before he could look again to be certain.

"The messenger is from Lord Wellington," he finally said, silently commending himself for not sighing.

"That is what I said," Antonio claimed.

A snicker from his left told Colborne that their exchange had not remained unnoticed.

"Send him in. Do you know what he wants?"

It wasn't at all like Wellington to interrupt a holiday if the French didn't force him to. Keeping that in mind, any message from the commander in chief delivered on Christmas Day was likely to be bad news.

Antonio, already moving towards the door, turned back towards Colborne. "He sends a contribution to the meal," he said, disapproval clear in his voice, muttering as he walked away again before anyone could say anything further. "He could have at least have sent it plucked and ready to go on the spit."

Moments later, the door was thrown open again, and Antonio bowed in a uniformed man carrying a heavy, covered basket.

"Lord Wellington sends his regards," the messenger announced as he approached Colborne. "And this."

Colborne glanced at the basket. Plucked and ready for the spit, Antonio had said. Had their commander heard of the mishap that had befallen Arthur and decided to send a replacement so Juana could have her Christmas dinner? It would have been somewhat late for that now. And Antonio was, for a change, quite right. Why send a living—

Reaching down, Colborne uncovered the basket and found himself looking into the usually friendly white face of Arthur the Gander, not quite as friendly and somewhat ruffled now after the bouncing journey in the basket.

Cautiously, he gave the bird's head and neck a quick scratch, making sure that he would not receive a bite for his efforts, then hoisted the animal out of its baskets and onto his lap.

"Colonel, your uniform!" he heard a warning hiss from Ugly Tom, just as Juana gave a squeal of delight.

"That's _Arthur_!" she exclaimed. "Give him to me, Colborne! The poor thing looks starved! You can't make him look at all this wonderful food and not let him have any."

Laughing, Colborne passed over the bird, which seemed to remember that Juana was where all the best food came from. He gave her his best suffering look and opened his beak.

"Juana, your dress…" Harry started, then broke off as he realised that any caution would be in vain.

"Give Lord Wellington our thanks," Colborne told the messenger, who was quickly acquiring a look that suggested that he doubted the sanity of several members of this dinner company. "And let him know that he made Mrs Smith outstandingly happy. Oh – and do have Antonio give you a glass of Champaign before you leave."

The latter, at least, seemed to reconcile the man to having had to deliver a live goose to a group of madmen who immediately proceeded to invite the animal to join their meal.

Juana was already busy offering a bit of everything to the bird, much to Arthur's delight.

"He should be on the table, not eating from it," Harry growled in mock-annoyance.

His wife favoured him with a glare for it. "He should not!" she told him sharply. "He is much too thin to be eaten now."

That, Colborne thought, was probably true. Arthur had obviously been well taken care of – though imagining how he had ended up in the Field Marshal's possession was beyond him –, but the fattening apparently had not continued, leaving him nowhere near the size Christmas dinners usually had at the time they met their fate.

"Besides," Juana declared. "You cannot eat a present from the Field Marshal, Enrique!"

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

Considering their close quarters, it should have been impossible for any of them to procure presents without any of the others being any the wiser.

Maybe it was just that, combined with knowing that everyone was perpetually short on money to begin with, that enabled them to keep their respective secrets.

After their grand Christmas dinner, New Year's Eve was going to be a sedate affair. The French were still showing all the restraint anyone could desire.

In fact, Colborne was almost starting to wish for the opposite, as his men were beginning to settle into their uninterrupted routine and enjoy the calm days and nights.

Only a few weeks ago, he had been yearning for the chance to sleep through a night, or maybe even two, without being called out of bed by a false alarm. At one point, he hadn't even been sure whether the last time he had taken off his boots at all had been one or two days earlier.

Now, after being fully caught up on sleep, he would have welcomed an alarm, however false it might turn out to be, just to reassure himself that their men were still properly on the lookout for any enemy action.

Colborne couldn't help but smile to himself about his own worries as he returned to their shared room on New Year's Eve. It was winter after all, and between holidays. The French were surely busy with better things than planning a surprise attack on them. Were there officers sitting in the castles on the French side of the lines thinking the same thoughts about the British?

The room he entered was, as always, impeccably clean. Like the others, his bed was made brownie-style, precisely to the point where the creases and folds could be checked with a ruler. Colborne had almost winced the first time he had seen that. It reminded him uncomfortably of the first school he had gone to, where things such as properly made beds were held in much higher regard than actual learning, and a violation of rules – or a bed not meeting the standards of whatever master was in charge of the boys – would bring on a few smart applications of the cane.

Trying to explain that to a brownie, however, turned out to be in vain.

Once, just a few days into their stay at the Chateau, Colborne had tried to talk to him, to ask him to focus his efforts on the Smiths' side of the room and just leave the Colonel's bed the way he himself made it. Even though that had been before the days when the most likely reason for him to get out of bed was following a call to arms, which as a consequence left the bed entirely unmade – and the man unwashed and, at times, not entirely dressed until he had managed to throw on his coat halfway down the corridor - the brownie had given him a look so confused and devoid of any comprehension that Colborne had given up without an attempt to explain in more detail.

So he let the brownie continue as he would and ignored the tingle that he imagined he could feel in the old scars across his back whenever he saw the improvements.

Just like for an imperfectly made bed, the brownie's tolerance for things left lying randomly about the room was low. What wasn't put away ended up on one of the few shelves in the room or in one of their chests. In the latter case, not all objects found their way into the right one at all times. When some of Juana's lace, carefully removed from a discarded piece of clothing to be sown onto another one to improve it, ended up in Tom Fane's trunk, they had started to speculate that maybe there was some intent behind the mis-allocation of objects.

Someone else was a lot more effective in encouraging everyone not to leave anything lying about: Arthur the goose had settled right back into their room as if he had never been gone. Apparently, he believed that he had simply gone on a holiday with his friend the Field Marshal and had now returned home to his regular family. He certainly had no idea of how narrowly he had escaped death.

On the other hand, either he had picked up some bad habits while part of Wellington's household, or he had somehow understood that having lived with and been returned by the Commander-in-Chief had made him immune to any threats of being put in the cooking pot for bad behaviour after all.

Since no one was going to accuse Wellington himself of spoiling a goose – at least not out loud where someone might hear and mention it to him – they usually stuck to the second option.

Anything left within Arthur's reach and unsupervised would quickly end up thoroughly chewed by his powerful beak.

After rewriting a letter to his wife twice because the first attempts had ended up in the bird's stomach, Colborne had gone to send off the third version quickly, returning just in time to rescue his inkwell from Arthur's attentions. As he rushed to remove his writing utensils from their shared table and into the safety of his trunk, he left black splotches on the goose's pristine white feathers, earning first a screeched scolding by Arthur and later a much more articulate one by Juana Smith.

All things considered, it was therefore quite unusual that he returned to the room to find something lying on his pillow – even more so since he was quite certain that he had put everything he owned away before leaving in the morning.

He approached, half fearing a prank.

A small, rectangular parcel was waiting for him, wrapped in a square of red cloth that he thought he had seen Juana handle a few days ago when she had been mending uniform coats.

The corner of a folded piece of paper was peeking out between the overlapping layers.

Teasing it out with two fingers, he felt a wide smile erupt on his face as he read the words painted on it in Juana's prettiest calligraphy.

"Lieutenant Colonel Colborne", it said, each letter sized and spaced carefully to fill the entire width of the paper and executed as neatly as print, and below it: "A Happy New Year."

The note still in his right hand, Colborne folded the cloth apart with his left, exposing a small, nondescript book bound in greying linen.

He turned it over to look at the spine, which was as unadorned at the rest of the book, sporting only two words:

WATER – BASICS

With fingers made unsteady by excitement, Colborne folded open the cover to look at the first page.

It looked like any other textbook he had ever seen, the paper it was printed on not the best, the pages showing signs of abuse by what may have been any number of pupils using the book for their studies as it was passed on from hand to hand whenever one exceeded the level of teaching the little volume could provide.

Browsing the table of contents made clear to him that this was just what it said on the spine - a beginner's book on the very basics of the art of Water Magic, targeted at children just learning to harness their powers. Considering that it would be the first bit of official teaching in water magic that he would ever receive, Colborne thought that that was probably quite appropriate.

He turned the pages, skimming through chapters on the basic properties of water, things that he had, in fact, figured out for himself. Next were descriptions of various bodies of water, their differences in size and characteristics and how those affected the Elementals living in them; elementals commonly found in each of them, complete with very short summaries of what they were most useful for.

Then charts, depicting the flow of water magic into and through the water mage as he built his first shields.

He leaved back through the book, scanning the lines and nodding to himself when he found that the word 'master' did not appear anywhere in it, as far as he could tell. That was logical, he assumed. This was, after all, meant for beginners.

Just about to return to where he had left off initially, Colborne stopped himself and returned to page one. No matter that he had been accepted as a Master even by Wellington himself, he was lacking precisely the kind of grounding in his magic that this volume could provide. He would go through it, page by page, exercise by exercise, whether he thought he already knew what it said or not. Who could tell if there wasn't something hidden in the text that he would only notice in a thorough reading and that would turn out to be important at a later date?

Where had the Smiths found this? And, come to think of them, where were they anyway?

The last question, at least, was answered reasonably quickly as the door flew open and a black-haired whirlwind rushed in, spinning around on one foot as he held open the door and bowed with a flourish so his wife could follow.

In his other hand, Colborne could see something that looked suspiciously like a leftover bottle of Champaign from Christmas. Now where had Harry hidden _that_ all week?

"Colborne!" Juana called out the moment she entered, still laughing about whatever joke Harry had made just before they had reached their room. "You found your present!"

"I did!" Colborne agreed with a wide smile on his face. He folded the book shut and gently placed it on his pillow. "Thank you! Both of you! Where did you find this?"

Juana beat Harry to an answer, speaking right over him as he started to launch into an explanation. Not for the first time, Colborne noted with amusement that she must be the only person capable of speaking faster than Harry Smith.

"That was quite simple," she explained. "Enrique simply wrote to his sister Alice and asked her if she could possibly spare one of the books they used for teaching the water children back there. He was only going to lend it to you, but when she wrote back and said that he could keep it, we knew it'd be the perfect present. You don't mind it's starting out all simple, do you?"

"It's wonderful," Colborne told her earnestly. "And not that simple at all, from what I've seen so far. At least not for someone who's never had any formal magical education before."

Juana nodded sagely. "I know. Enrique really neglected that part of your training! But he's so careless with the formal part of magic even with his own element that sometimes you have to wonder if he's had any proper training at all himself. Really, sometimes I marvel that he's able to cast a single spell!"

Harry cleared his throat. "Hello? I'm standing right here!" He tried to sound affronted, but failed miserably as he was fighting not to burst into laughter.

For his sake, Colborne hoped that he would get his features under control before Juana turned around to face him. She would most likely not appreciate his current expression.

"Oh, but it is true!" His wife insisted. "I wish I could have gotten one of the books we had at school, though. They were so much better structured and organised!"

"Were they?" Colborne asked, well aware that Juana did not read English any better than she spoke it, and that was limited to a very few common words. "Oh, but I'm sure this will do nicely. It is certainly much more than I could ever have hoped to get." He looked from one Smith to the other. "I fear that I have nothing remotely comparable for you, though."

"Oh, Colborne," Juana gave him her best reassuring look. "You don't need to give us anything at all, really! It isn't—"

She broke off as Colborne got up from his bed and knelt by his trunk, throwing back the lid.

As he straightened again and turned, he held two packages, clearly prepared in advance.

Juana's eyes widened in anticipation, as Harry stared as if he had never gotten a New Year's present before.

"Here you go, Harry," Colborne told him as he held out the bulkier one of the two. Amusement softened the warning tone in his voice as he spoke. "Try to make them last a little longer than your last ones."

Without waiting for Harry to unwrap his present, he turned to Juana, handing over the second package. "And this is for you, my dear. I hope it's to your taste. I wish you a Happy New Year!"

With all the fervour of her fifteen years, Juana tore off the wrapping as soon as Colborne's hands had let go of the parcel, uncovering a square of lace, worked delicately and brimming with protective spells and charms. It was a work of art, the spellwork far beyond anything Colborne would have managed at his level of training.

Juana gave an exclamation of pure joy as she unfolded it and studied the details.

A moment later, she threw herself at Colborne, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug before letting go just enough to kiss his cheek. "Oh thank you! Thank you, thank you so much! This is wonderful! Where did you get it?"

Blushing, Colborne cast a sideways glance at Harry. Hopefully, the younger man would not begrudge him his wife's attentions and excitement!

"Let me keep some secrets, Juanita," he told her. "It would not be right for me to tell you all my tricks."

In fact, the lace had come in his trunk all the way from Vera, made and spelled by his hostess there, as Juana and Harry would surely have no problem finding out if they probed the magic it was imbued with more closely.

Held in the very pattern of the lace, the spells would not dissipate easily, she had told him. Whoever received it could either wear it as a kerchief, making use of the full power of protection that it provided, or cut it apart to decorate various pieces of clothing, diluting the power but spreading it out, just as she preferred.

He was quite certain that Juana knew all of that without being told – just as he was quite certain that María Alvarez had assumed that it was intended as a gift for his wife, rather than that of his brigade major. He doubted she would have been as reasonable with her price if she had known.

Harry looked more amused than affronted as he laid aside the torn wrapping of his own present and held up a pair of soft leather gloves. "I have no idea where you got these either, Colonel, but I am properly grateful! I so do need them!" He slid them over his hands, testing the way they felt. "Though I think I can contain my excitement enough do without kissing you if I try really hard," he added with a chuckle.

Juana leaned back in and touched Colborne's cheek with her lips again. "This one's for Enrique," she announced as she pulled back again. "He really does need new gloves, and I don't know how we would have afforded them." Her expression grew more serious. "I don't know how you afforded them! You didn't take them out of the money you are sending to your wife, did you?"

Her entire posture changed as she spoke, and Colborne hastened to shake his head before she could take away Harry's present and return it to him. "No need to worry about that," he assured her. "Elizabeth is not suffering for Harry's present or yours."

It was true. In contrast to the lace, he had not paid a penny for the gloves. They had been procured by the chateau's head servant, apparently as well connected to the black market as Harry himself was – and possibly better. The payment been rendered entirely in the form of magical labour, as Colborne had cleansed the castle's stores of water after the French had been driven out again and gone over the roofs with some of the local mages, finding the spots where water magic collecting in the thatching suggested that a leak was about to form.

He would have done either of those free of charge, of course, but when it had become clear that the chateau's mages were feeling somewhat affronted by his continued assertion that he did not need any compensation for his time and effort, he had eventually asked for their help in procuring a fitting present for his friend and brigade major.

They had been more than willing to oblige him. As everywhere, Harry had not taken long to make friends among the residents.

"Good!" Juana declared. "It would not be proper!"

"Indeed it would not be," the two men agreed as one.

Trying to change the subject, Colborne pointed at Tom Smith's bed, which sported a package wrapped like the one Colborne had found on his. "What's he getting?"

"Socks," Juana said simply, as Harry grinned.

"Socks," Colborne repeated with a stern look at Harry. "You're giving me this wonderful book and all your brother gets are socks?"

"You needed the book," Harry pointed out. "Tom needs socks. Besides, if he needs a book, all he has to do is write home and ask for one to be sent."

Juana nodded, though her face had acquired a thoughtful expression. "Actually," she mused, "I think Colborne could have used some socks as well, Enrique. Have you seen the holes in his recently? Really, it's a wonder anyone can still manage to darn them!"

Coughing suddenly, Colborne turned back away from his friends. There was another present he was going to give this night, and this was as good a moment as any to do so.

He felt the other two's eyes on him as he lifted another object out and put it down on the floor. It was a carved piece of wood, about two hand widths in either direction.

Adjusting his sight to see the magic, Colborne studied his work once again. He had spent much of his free time in the last two months on this, trying, discarding and trying anew.

It wasn't anywhere near ready to be called an artefact, though it was by now clear that he had based it on his brief study of Benoit's necklace of invisibility. Thinking of that, he wondered if the French had ever gone to the effort to recharge it after Benoit returned with the now-useless object.

Colborne's most recent attempts were pre-cutting the paths along which he wanted the magic to flow into a piece of wood, then sending the magic along that path and tying off the threads, hoping that they would stay where he put them. Water usually worked best, which was hardly any surprise. He started out with that, forming a basic web of green and blue lines across the surface of his block through which he could thread other magic later.

He added air next, shooting the strands between and through the water, the lines straighter and a little wider where his water ones were thin but curvy, rarely running in a straight line from one point to the next. Rather than forcing them into a shape they resisted so much, he had taken to marking out the path he wanted in waves rather than a direct connection between two points.

The white and yellow of Air fit itself neatly between the wood and the water, threading in and out of the mesh. Here, the challenge was to keep random wisps of magic that tried to escape and would eventually sap strength from the result in line, wrapping them back into the weave and twisting them around the string of Air magic that he was working with.

Fire – once something he would not have even thought of touching in this way – came to his call willingly enough now after his meeting with the Dragon. It felt hot to his magical touch, but it would not burn him.

It wasn't as bendy as water and air were, or as flexible in how it could be shaped. That, he was quite sure, was entirely due to the fact that he was a Water Master, alliance with Fire notwithstanding. He had seen Harry and Juana perform far more delicate works of magic with their own element, and they had never seemed to have any difficulty at all to get the orange and red flows to form and stay where they wanted them.

Last, Colborne had added some earth to his collection of magic, taken solely from a puddle of the purest Earth magic he had ever seen. It had pooled near the river, in earth cleansed by the water he himself had purified right after their arrival in the Chateau.

Oh, there was clean Earth magic in the castle itself as well, but he had a hunch that that belonged to Madame Dupont, and that the head servant would not be too pleased if she found him borrowing her magic for his experiments.

Earth was hardest for him to work with, in spite of being Water's closer ally. He had the least practice with it, and after having seen the Earth elementals that permeated every battlefield and followed the army, he also found himself somewhat reluctant to really try. Immersing his magical self into Earth magic felt as if he were burying himself in sludge, even if it was cleansed earth.

Still, he had eventually managed, though the share of Earth in his block was much smaller than those of the other elements.

Eventually, he hoped, he would be able to store some magic to have at hand if his own supply was depleted.

He was still far from being able to do that, though today his previous attempts could at least serve as a New Year's present.

As Harry and Juana watched with interest, Colborne silently called his Elemental friends - or at least those of them that could be let into the room safely.

Alexander poked his snout out of his Master's jacket, sniffing the air and watched the strange multi-coloured object cautiously.

The undines that had followed Colborne around from their very first campsite after his return rushed in. They only took one glance at the offering he had left for them before they dug into the water threads, absorbing the magic into themselves with all the fervour of a child being presented with a sugar cone.

As the water magic thinned out, Colborne realised that he did not know if the other elements would last without the water basis.

He repeated his call to Sylphia, a little more urgently, hoping that the cheeky elemental would show up before her gift dissipated into the air.

She skidded to a halt in the air by his side even as he was finishing the thought, clapping her hands in joy and turning a loop around Colborne's head before pouncing on the air threads – though not before sampling the other magic with various degrees of distaste on her face.

As the brownie followed his invitation at a much more sedate and controlled pace, Alexander finally ventured forward as well, joining his colleagues in their feast.

Colborne watched them eat, peacefully side by side even though they were of opposing elements. He had fed the phoenixes before he had come in, and thought that they had seemed somewhat confused by the sudden offer of a gift of magic.

The smaller elementals seemed less surprised, the brownie too stoic by nature and the others probably familiar enough with their Master's strange ways by now to take in stride whatever he might throw at them.

"A happy new year, my friends," Colborne told them, speaking out loud to include the humans as well as the elementals. "May it see the end of this war."


	32. Chapter 32

Four days later, they received orders to move. Apparently, the higher command shared Colborne's concerns about the soldiers becoming too comfortable in their position face to face with the enemy, too used to being close to the French without anything happening.

The men on both sides had also been observed to grow somewhat more friendly than was generally considered appropriate in times of war.

Packing took longer than it had before. With the castle as their quarters, they had all gotten somewhat more comfortable than they would have in a camp, or even in regular billets.

Antonio had barely started getting Colborne's things, his Master still looking on to make sure he did not find a reason to discontinue his work, when the Brownie crept out of a crevice between the tiles.

 _Master, my mistress wishes to speak to you_ , he stated before merging into the ground again without another word, but not before he had bestowed a scathing look on Antonio. Colborne didn't think that the Calabrian was treating his things too badly, but the Elemental apparently had his own opinion concerning that.

"Excuse me," Colborne said to Antonio as he turned towards the door. "Carry on. You know what to do. I need to take care of some things."

The servant nodded without bothering to give an actual answer. Colborne hoped that he would not return to find the room in a mess and the servant gone to take care of more important business than getting his employer's possessions packed.

Hopefully, Juana would return in time to prevent that. Where was she anyway?

He made his way down the stairs, greeting men and officers left and right as everyone was scrambling to get packed and ready to go.

What could Madame Dupont want with him now?

They had met somewhat regularly, Master to Master, helping each other out and working out things where the people in their respective charge were reporting any grievances.

A polite knock announced his arrival to the head servant, and he waited to be called in. Let anyone who saw it think of it what they would – he came because he was summoned, for a talk between equals or, more precisely between a vastly under-experienced Water Master and an Earth Master at the height of her powers.

The door sprang open, and he slipped inside, finding to his surprise not only Madame Dupont, but also the Brownie that had called him, perched on the edge of a desk and looking downright nervous.

"What's wrong?" Colborne asked, concern evident in his voice.

He relaxed immediately when he saw Madame Dupont's smile. She wasn't upset and she didn't seem worried in the least.

"Come, sit," she said, indicating a chair at her table that Colborne took willingly. "Tea?"

"Thank you," Colborne accepted. He couldn't help but smile at her expression as she poured. She must have made it especially for him when she had called him.

"I'll never understand what it is with you British and tea," she declared when she sat across from him, a glass of watered-down wine in her own hand.

Colborne didn't bother to point out that most of his fellow officers would have been more than happy to join in and help finish off the wine. It was just another one of his own peculiarities to limit his intake of alcohol more than was usual. "It's just a matter of habit," he pointed out instead. "You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense!" She interrupted him sharply. "Of course I did. This is your last day here – Which is why I sent for you."

The colonel nodded as he tried the tea. It was excellent, as was everything Madame Dupont made. Though still not good at seeing or interpreting Earth magic that wasn't about or likely to attack him or his men, he could feel that there was more to this than herbs and tea leaves.

He probably should have been nervous about that and stopped drinking until he had ascertained what was in the cup. She was French after all and he in charge of the men occupying a castle she considered hers, magically as well as physically.

Then again, she had never shown him anything but kindness, though at times in a rough kind of way as if he were just another member of her staff.

"Your men were most considerate during your stay," she began. "I thank you for that. I was expecting more problems from having so many… soldiers in the chateau."

He waved it off with a quick motion of his hand. "They know our commander in chief would never stand for bad behaviour on their side."

"And yet it is you who make sure that they obey," the woman insisted. "Without frequent reminders or 'accidents'. We know the worth of a good commander, Master. There is no need to try to make yourself seem less accomplished at your job."

Colborne felt himself blush as he accepted the praise graciously, not at all sure that he was, in fact, deserving of such, but quite well aware that the woman was determined not to accept a refusal.

"You haven't called me to commend me on my leadership though," he pointed out instead, hoping to change the subject.

She sighed. "Indeed I have not." She glanced at the brownie which, in contrast to her, seemed downright fidgety now.

"I am told that you treat both your Elementals and your servants in ways quite different from those of other masters – and Masters."

The corner of Colborne's mouth twitched. "I have been told that as well," he admitted. Was she going to give him a lecture on proper handling of Elementals as well now? Would he ever meet a Master who didn't try to do that at least once?

"Your elementals are unusually happy to be with you, according to what mine tell me."

Well, that sounded like she might not. Colborne released the breath he had been holding in anticipation.

"But that it works less well with your serving man."

He smiled what he was sure was quit sheepishly. "That may be true." In fact, he had no idea if Antonio was even still packing as carefully as he should, rather than hurrying through Colborne's possessions in order to spend as little time on it as possible, leaving his master to sort out the wreckage once they arrived in their new location.

"The Brownie I assigned to you deeply disapproves of the man." She said it with an expression that suggested that she was not used to her Elementals voicing opinions of their own – especially on people. Was this going to turn into a scolding for putting ideas into her Brownie's head?

"I fear I cannot fire Antonio on the recommendation of a Brownie," Colborne replied evenly, though he almost followed it up with a sigh. "Not after keeping him on against the advice of my friends and even family."

"You have a good heart, Master," Madame Dupont observed. "And so, it seems, does the Brownie. It has asked me if it could continue to take care of you after today, since your own servant is apparently incapable of doing the same as well as he should."

Colborne raised his eyebrows. "We are moving away from the chateau, and soon will be back on the road travelling wherever the war takes us," he reminded her. "I don't think that would be feasible."

Truth be told, though, he would have liked to have a Brownie of his own. It was one of many things that he had put on his mental list of achievements to aim for in the course of his magical advancement.

"It would travel with you," Madam Dupont said to his surprise. "It would accompany you wherever you are sent next and continue to take care of your household."

"I cannot possibly steal away your Brownie…" Colborne began. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Elemental forcefully shake his head.

Madame Dupont mirrored the gesture. "You wouldn't be stealing it. I am not dependant on this one Brownie – especially not once your men are gone from the castle. I am willing to transfer it to you if you would have it."

The Brownie sidled up to the table and waited, only scant inches away from Colborne's leg.

"Are you quite certain?" the man wanted to know, focusing on the head servant. Much as he would have liked to keep the Brownie, he had no desire to get into trouble again for interfering with another Master's elementals – especially since it really wasn't necessary in this case.

She nodded. "Of course. I would not offer if I weren't."

"Well…" Colborne glanced down at the creature of Earth. "If he really wants to come along and if you do not mind? I have to warn him, though – we will be travelling a lot. I am told that Earth does not like to be uprooted and dragged across the country."

"That is generally true," she agreed. "However, Brownies have been known to travel with a Master. This one seems to be willing to."

"In that case, I would be stupid not to accept." He looked down at the small creature. "Are you quite certain that you want to come along?"

 _Yes, Master_ , the Brownie informed him with as much enthusiasm as he had ever seen in him. _I will take good care of you._

Colborne couldn't help a chuckle at that. "I am sure you will," he said. "Very well, then. You'll be welcome to the family."

The Brownie beamed up at him.

Still smiling, Colborne finished his tea before he rose. "I will have to return upstairs – people will be wondering where I got to. Thank you, Madame – for everything."

She interrupted him with a quick wave of her hand. "Oh, nonsense. I should thank you for the orderly stay. We expected a lot more trouble when you arrived. Our own troops gave us more trouble the one day they were here than yours did all these weeks. Now go take your Brownie and your men and do what you must."

The colonel nodded. "Still," he insisted as he walked to the door. "The orderly stay was your doing as much as ours."

Madame Dupont met his smile with one of her own. Standing by the door, she surprised him by pulling him into a brief embrace. "Good luck, Master," she told him. "Stay safe."

"I will do my best," Colborne promised. As the woman turned away to return to her work, apparently having said all she was planning to on the matter, he stepped outside and walked towards the stairs, the Brownie scurrying along beside him.

_Master?_

"What is it?" Colborne asked. "Have you reconsidered?"

_No. Never._

He waited. When there was no further elaboration on the Brownie's side, Colborne asked again: "What did you need?"

Noticing the man's eyes on him, the Brownie lowered his head, fixing his small black eyes on the floor. Colborne watched in surprise. He hadn't been that shy before. Was he taking his cues from Alexander now? Did he think that was how he expected his Elementals to behave? It was unlikely. He must have seen his Undines, the Sylph, the Phoenixes – none of whom were anywhere near shy.

Colborne stopped, dropping on one knee to be closer to the Elemental's level and reaching out for him with one hand. "What is it?"

Another moment's silence followed before the answer came. _Can I have a name?_

For a few seconds, Colborne looked perplexed – more about his own lack of attention than about the Brownie's request, though.

"How would you like… Bob?" he asked.

 _Bob_? The Brownie asked.

"That's short for Robert," Colborne told him, then repeating the name the way the French said it "Robert, you know?"

 _Robert_ , the brownie repeated, savouring the sound of each syllable. He had picked the French variety. _I like that._

Colborne inclined his head slightly. "Then that will be your name."

_Master?_

About to straighten up again, Colborne turned back to his new family member. "Yes?"

_You may call me Bob._

"Very good," Colborne agreed as he got back to his feet. "Come along then, Bob. We need to supervise the packing."

*

For a change, Antonio seemed to have done his work as expected. Colborne returned to a room fully packed and ready to be loaded for moving. A small bag was sitting on his vacated bed. A quick look inside confirmed that it held the things he would need to settle in after arriving if the baggage train didn't catch up with them on time.

After battle, or when moving the army in place, it was a given that they would do without all amenities, but a planned relocation of winter quarters did not require the same.

Shouldering his bag, Colborne turned towards the door again.

His next way took him to where the horses were stabled.

His former roommates were already there, waiting by their saddled horses. Juana was giving hers a furious brushing around the tack.

With a nod of thanks, the colonel accepted the reins of his horse from his Brigade Major. He hoisted his baggage onto the animal's back and secured it there. He could just about imagine the amusement among his men if he managed to accidentally leave his things in the dirt on the way.

He looked around. "So we're all ready to move to our new quarters," he observed.

Harry grinned at him. "May they be more spacious than the last."

"What?" Colborne asked with feigned annoyance. "Were the arrangements not to your taste, Captain?"

"Oh," Harry replied, his expression unchanged. "They were starting to get a little too cosy towards the end."

Colborne laughed. "You surprise me, Smith," he claimed. "After all, you were the only one among us who didn't have to listen to your snoring."

He looked around , a frown darkening his features. "Are you sending Arthur with the baggage train after all?" He had fully expected the goose to ride with Juana, as she had announced the moment they had heard that they would be moving. Nothing they said had been able to sway her.

The young woman turned to look at him. "He's not coming."

"What?"

"Arthur is not coming," Juana repeated. "I went to get him and found him canoodling with one of the castle's geese. They have a nest! I can't tear him away from his family!"

So like his namesake, Arthur had turned out to be a true ladies' man? Well, that was hardly surprising. He was a very stately gander after all.

Juana wiped her eyes surreptitiously. "He'll be happier this way," she said. "The gardener promised to take care of him."

Colborne did not bother to point out that that might well land Arthur in the pan after all. He merely nodded. "I'm sure he'll be happy to be allowed to stay with his wife."

As she packed away her brushes, Juana's eyes found the brownie. "Aren’t you supposed to return him?" she asked.

Following her glance, Colborne smiled. "As a matter of fact, no. He's coming. Madame Dupont gave him to me."

"Colborne…" both Smiths began at the same time.

Harry closed his mouth and indicated for Juana to continue.

"Colborne," she repeated. "Earth does not like to travel, and he'll hate the spoiled Earth of the battlefields."

The colonel gave his one-shouldered shrug. "It wasn't my idea," he pointed out. "And I told him and he still wants to come."

Bob the Brownie nodded vigorously at the statement.

"He'll regret it," Harry noted with a laugh. "But who am I to give advice to a Brownie. Especially one that has attached itself to our colonel. Have you named him, yet?"

 _My name is Robert_ , the Brownie announced for all to hear, just as Colborne said: "Bob. He's Bob."

"Bob," Harry repeated out loud.

 _Robert_ , the Brownie insisted with a slightly insulted tone. _Only the Master calls me Bob._

*

The trip to their new quarters was about two hours on horseback – if one didn't wait for the baggage train. Leaving the soldiers to their respective companies' captains, Colborne and his staff scouted ahead, enjoying the clear day under a cool winter sun.

They were moving into hill country, soon following a river that cut its way through the landscape. Remembering the state the river had been in near their old accommodation, Colborne kept a magical eye on it as they rode along, pleasantly surprised by the crisp and fresh feel of the magic in it. There was no fouling that he could sense, though the familiar streams of magic that mingled with those of water carried along something new, a flavour he had never tasted before.

It wasn't unpleasant in the least, appearing more like a strange, foreign spice that he had never tasted before but could well imagine getting used to to him.

He was about to urge his horse forward so he could comment on it to Harry and Juana, riding a little in front of him, when he saw the younger man start. Harry's horse danced sideways as his hands on the reins tightened, but after the first split-second of concern, Colborne realised that there was nothing alarming about the demeanour of horse or rider.

In fact, they seemed to be quite enjoying themselves.

As he turned his gaze towards Juana to see if she was equally affected, he reached the place where Harry had been.

He felt a feeling like a ripple run through him, a shower of cold, clear water that washed away a cartload of depression and anxiety he had not been aware he carried. The air seemed cleaner now, fresher and more invigorating, the sounds of birds in the trees and even the splash of the river to their side more sharply defined. Colours gained in intensity as the air was filled with the smell of clean earth.

His horse seemed to feel it, too, prancing sideways with a happy toss of his mane. Speeding up from trot to canter, Colborne closed the distance between him and Smith.

The younger man turned towards him, a wide, happy smile on his face as he dropped his reins and spread his arms wide, as if to embrace this sudden wondrous experience.

"This," he said when Colborne slowed down to match his pace. "This is what land should feel like."

"I don’t quite understand," Colborne admitted. He almost gave in to the wish to mirror Harry, trusting to his horse to not lose him and focusing entirely on enjoying the moment.

"You're drunk on magic," Juana said, giggling, on his other side. So was Tiny, it seemed. The young woman's horse had acquired a spring in his step that made him look as if he were almost skipping along.

Harry laughed. "And you are not?" he wanted to know. "Wipe that smirk off of your face and I might be more inclined to believe you."

"I will do no such thing!" Juana declared.

"What is this?" Colborne wanted to know. He was forcing his mind to focus, glancing around with his magical senses as the conversation between his friends tipped him off about what he should have realised from the beginning – none of the changes he had experienced had actually been physical in nature.

He looked around for his own Elementals. Sylphia was turning cartwheels in the air, while the phoenixes showed somewhat more restraint. Their colours seemed to have brightened, though, the feathers were glossier than they had been.

Alexander came out of his coat as he still observed them, pulling himself up to rub his muzzle against Colborne's cheek.

Twisting around, Colborne caught a glimpse of the Brownie, perched on the bag slung behind his saddle. The Earth Elemental looked like he was sunbathing.

His Undines weren't as close. Submersed in the river, they moved far ahead. _Do you need us, Master_? They asked as Colborne's mind brushed against theirs, their words filled with happiness.

 _No,_ Colborne sent back. _Just checking if you're alright._

Enthusiastic giggling was their answer.

"Smith, what is this?" he asked out loud, his tone a little sharper now.

Harry visibly pulled himself together. "This is what land should feel like," he repeated. "This is land that's being taken care of by Masters – not some solitary Master here and there, but an organised Circle, keeping it cleansed and healthy and safe, unspoiled by war. I haven't felt this good since I left England! Oh, I hope this goes all the way to our quarters! I hope we'll be staying here for a while. I hope they won't mind us! Colonel—" his grin widened another fraction, if that was at all possible, "They might even have a Water Master to spare to give you a lesson or two!"


	33. Chapter 33

By the time they arrived at the village that was to be their home for the rest of the winter, most of the magical inebriation had worn off. Still, the area did not cease to feel wonderfully fresh to Colborne, soothing his mind in ways he had not realised he needed.

They entered the village at a relaxed trot. The villagers, forewarned by the administrative staff who had arrived earlier, did not seem disturbed by their presence.

As they dismounted, helpful hands reached for the horses' reins, while a quick question from Colborne was all it took to show them the way to the quartermaster's current office.

Lodgings had already been assigned. None of them bothered to pretend that they were not more than happy to finally have rooms of their own again, rather than sharing their quarters the way they had in the last weeks.

Moving into his, Colborne discovered that he had been placed in the home of two middle-aged sisters. They were, as he learned quickly, both widowed at a young age, and had not had any desire to remarry. They didn't mind having them there, as they assured him many times. One of them made the same disapproving sounds at the sight of a badly mended tear in Colborne's vest when he took off his coat that Juana had made on a similar occasion, drawing a smile – and almost a laugh – from Colborne.

"I'm not going to undress here and now just so you can fix my servant's work," he had told Juana.

He refrained from saying anything along those lines to his hostess. Instead, he opted for simply pretending he had not seen the look and thanking her for her kindness in taking him in. Of course, they hadn't really had any choice in the matter, as he well knew, but it couldn't hurt to show some appreciation.

They were also both as unmagical as could be, as far as he could tell. There were no wards on the house at all, no shields, and only the same general signs of Elementals having been tended that seemed to be ever-present in this part of the country.

He went out – the offendingly mended tear in his vest once again covered by his coat – when the main part of his men arrived, making himself available if he was needed, but without interfering while things were going smoothly.

Among the Mages and Masters he knew in the ranks, he could see the same expressions of relaxed gratitude, lines softened, smiles widened and eyes a bit more sparkling than they had been. Even those with no magical aptitude at all seemed affected and just a little easier than they had been.

Moving into their quarters went quickly and even with less than the usual amount of quarrelling and complaints.

"We've had word of how nicely things went up North," a young man who had been limping after Harry when the younger officer had joined Colborne, told them. "We'd rather have you than Napoleon's army. We've heard what _they_ did elsewhere, too."

So once again, Wellington's troops were seen as protectors as well as occupiers.

"It's easy to behave well if we're welcome with open arms like this," Colborne pointed out.

"Thank you, Master," Harry's companion said, earning a playful buffet from Smith for it.

"That's our Colonel you're talking to, you lout!"

"Leave him be, _Captain_ ," Colborne ordered. "Master will do just fine."

At closer scrutiny, Colborne adjusted his initial impression of 'young man' to that of 'boy at the verge of manhood'. He might have been old enough to be pressed into service in the army, but it wasn't hard to see why he had been spared. His walk was a sideways shuffle, one foot barely clearing the ground. He kept the arm on that side close to his body, his fingers curling inwards and apparently useless.

Still, the blue eyes under a mop of curly dark hair were sparkling with an enthusiasm and confidence rendered much less surprising if one was able to see how the Elementals were poking their heads out of the earth, crowding in and basking in his presence as if they were plants and he the sun.

Those were Earth Elementals, most of them kinds that Colborne had never seen before. They were very different from the kind that they usually encountered and chased away – the very opposite, in fact. Where those Earth Elementals that dwelled on battlefields were vicious, feral beasts trying to take a bite out of anything living they could find, these appeared more like plump, content beings with a desire to share their good fortune.

"Jean Cartier, Earth Master," the young villager introduced himself.

"John Colborne, Water Master," Colborne replied as he filled his shields with power.

The boy's Earth magic protection rippled, leaving the Colonel astonished at the perfection of those shields. Young he might have been, but like Juana, he certainly had well earned his title. He grinned up at Colborne, who easily stood a head taller than he did.

"The one they call the Water Dragon."

That drew a wince from the older man. "I would be entirely happy if I never had to hear that title again," he muttered, loud enough to be heard but low enough for everyone to guess that he did not in the least assume that his wish would actually be granted.

"It is not every day that you meet a Water Master protected by Phoenixes," Jean pointed out with an appreciative glance at the pair, hovering just far enough away to maintain their full size – or the largest size that Colborne had ever seen them assume, the one they had when they were travelling through the open countryside, without running the risk of colliding with any buildings or passers-by who might not appreciate the contact.

"We're billeted with Jean's family," Harry pointed out, sparing Colborne the need to answer. "What are your quarters like?"

"Luxurious," Colborne answered, pointing to the building in question. "Though I'm sure I will be missing the snoring soon enough. I don't know how I'll even sleep with the room that silent!"

They shared a laugh, Jean joining in with them, though for reasons of his own, as it quickly turned out. "The Bouvier sisters," he explained when they fell silent again. "Beware. Widowed young enough to go looking for a second husband, though pickings are scarce here at the moment. If you don't watch out, they'll be all over you trying to get your attention."

"I'm a married man," Colborne replied. "I think they better turn their attentions elsewhere."

"Good excuse," Harry commented with a grin. "Though it's not like it keeps our commander in chief from enjoying such attentions."

"Well, it does keep me from it," the older officer insisted. "And that is one aspect in which I have no desire at all to follow in our commander in chief's footsteps."

"You might still reconsider," came the boy's suggestion. "They can be quite convincing."

Now Colborne laughed. "If they were that convincing, they whould have succeeded already. So either they're not _that_ convincing or they're not really trying."

Noticing the surprised look he received for that, he went on: "Maybe they enjoy the hunt more than the actual kill?"

*

Whichever way it may have been, they did enjoy the hunt – there was no doubt about that in Colborne's mind when he returned to his room later that day to find a vase of flowers on the table, as well as several objects that had been in the room moved.

He suspected Bob to be the cause of the latter initially – but only until he saw the Brownie rise out of the floor, his face set in an annoyed expression and his entire posture looking as if he might grow thorns or spikes any moment.

 _These women_ , he declared. _They have no sense of appropriate behaviour at all!_

Colborne suppressed a grin as he sat down and started to wrestle his boots off. They were surely far enough behind the lines now not to need to sleep in their uniforms. "What did they do?"

 _They were coming in here every other minute!_ The Brownie claimed. _What?_

The last was a snap in Colborne's direction.

The man quickly smoothed his features and shook his head. "Nothing. Do go on." This wasn't the time to figure out if a Brownie's sense of time was any better than a Djinni's.

 _They kept moving things about, leaving things, taking them away… I couldn't even put away your things in peace!_ Almost as an afterthought, he added: _They also took away my dish._

"That, of course, will not do at all," Colborne agreed. He had left a small snack for Bob before he had gone outside. If his hosts disapproved of having small amounts of food standing around, he would have to resort to a similar approach as he had with Arthur in the room, putting the Brownie's dish where it would not easily be found by anyone but the Brownie. "I will make sure your meals do not vanish anymore. For the rest, though," he went on, "We are guests in their house, and if they wish to move the furniture in here, we should accept that and simply suffer it. We will not be here forever."

The Brownie's stare darkened for a moment, then as if in sudden inspiration, the Elemental brightened up. _Then why,_ he asked with as much of a smirk as Colborne had ever seen on his face so far, _did you put a latch on the door the moment you came in?_

*

Insistent knocking woke Colborne the next morning. He turned over, causing Alexander's claws to tighten on his arm as the Salamander refused to be dislodged, and glanced at the window in surprise.

In spite of the long winter nights, sunlight was already filtering through the curtains. Had he really slept this late? Unusual as it was for him, he assumed that he had every right to make an exception on the first night that he was able to enjoy a quiet and calm place of his own again.

The clean magic that radiated its soothing effect even into the home of his unmagical hosts surely hadn't hurt either. He could have sworn that he had lost ten years of his age over night.

His uniform was already laid out for him, though Bob was nowhere in sight.

The knock returned.

"I'm up!" Colborne called to the person on the other side of the door. "I'll be out in a moment. What is it?"

"There is a man here to see you, Colonel," one of the sisters informed him. "He came riding in half an hour ago and insists he needs to report to you."

Half an hour ago? "Why didn't you wake me up right away?"

Colborne hurried into his trousers and stuffed his shirt into them, still partially unbuttoned since he seemed to have lost a buttonhole somewhere. If there were any urgent news and they were late in receiving them because the Brigadier had decided to sleep in…

He could just about imagine Lord Wellington's reaction to that.

"Someone took care of him and said to give you some more sleep," came the response.

"What someone?" At least that suggested that they weren't going to be rushing into a life-and-death matter. Colborne redid the buttons on his shirt in their proper holes and slipped on his vest, noting with amusement that the tear had been fixed.

"A young man, black hair, looked like you're not feeding him enough," came his host's voice through the door. "Green jacket with silver trappings. Acts like he's been fed too much oats."

Colborne threw on his coat and buttoned it one-handedly before running a hand through his hair.

"Sounds like Harry Smith." He opened the door and found himself looking into the face of the younger of the Bouvier sisters. "Where are they now?"

"I don't know," she answered. "They left. Would you like some breakfast?"

"Maybe later," Colborne told her. "I need to find out what they got up to first."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "It's no wonder that young man of yours looks starved if he follows your example!"

That made him chuckle. 'Starved' was not a word he would have used to describe Harry Smith, though it was true that the man's wind-up toy behaviour burned food as fast as he could put it into himself. The comment did make him realise once again, though, that not only the Elementals, but also the people in this village looked better fed than any locals he had encountered recently. Even though the countryside had seemed bare of anything edible as they had ridden through, what fields there were were brown and dead in the winter cold, the people here had to profit from the magical prosperity as much as the Elementals did. He wondered if Harry would know how that worked.

"Captain Smith is fine," he said as he stepped past her. He pulled the door shut behind himself, wondering if she would get the idea of what a closed door meant – and if so if she chose to heed it.

He could feel her disapproving look on his back as he left the cottage.

The morning was cool, though by no means icy.

Colborne looked around. The villagers were going about their business. Friendly faces nodded to him in greeting as he passed, some a little lower than others. Around many of those, he could see the traces of magic that accompanied a Mage who was not bothering to hide his power.

He returned their nods as respectfully, and resolved to give Harry Smith a stern talking-to about spreading word of his exploits – and doubtlessly his magical nickname. Then again, he should probably include his own Elementals in that as well. It surely wouldn't have been the first time that the news spread through them rather than Smith.

The Smiths were billeted in a cottage slightly larger than the one Colborne lived in, but certainly no more spacious. He had hardly knocked, when the door was torn open and two children, a boy and a girl barely of school age, barrelled through, laughing and shouting. A couple of sylphs followed in their wake.

Catching the door with one hand before it could fall shut again, Colborne knocked against the door frame to announce his presence, just in case his first knock had been lost in the children's noise.

A woman appeared out of a room, drying her hands on her apron as she walked. As lean as Harry was and with hardly any female curves at all, she resembled their new friend Jean enough to make it impossible for them to deny a close family relationship.

"You must be Colonel Colborne," she said after looking him over. "What are you waiting for? Go on in! The boys are waiting for you. I don't know if they left any breakfast for you at all."

"That's okay," he said with a smile. "Serves me right to go without for sleeping so late." He entered the room she had indicated and found himself in a kitchen that was very well filled with the people already in there.

The table was still set, though everyone seemed to have stopped eating. Everyone, that was, with the exception of a small child sitting in Juana's lap while the young woman patiently fed it from a bowl. She looked up briefly to wish Colborne a good morning, before going back to her task.

The moment Jean saw Colborne appear in the doorway, he pushed himself to his feet. "Have a seat, Master," he told him. "Have you had breakfast?"

Not about to take away his host's seat, Colborne hesitated. The bench along the rear wall was occupied by three more children of varying ages. He was about to ask them to move closer together so he could take the other-most edge of the bench, when he finally laid eyes on the newcomer.

"George!" The tone of his voice reflected the happy look on his face at the sight of his old friend.

Beaming no less than Colborne, the man rose, turning towards him in the same motion. "Jack!"

For a moment, the two men locked in a one-armed embrace before stepping apart again to look each other over.

"How's the arm?" Colborne asked, at the same time as the other man asked: "How's the shoulder?"

Colborne made a face. "It's fine now, or as fine as can be expected. I can use the hand." As if to prove it, he lifted his right hand and wriggled his fingers.

George glanced down at the empty air where his right hand would have been had it still been attached to his body. "I wouldn't be able to use mine if it were still attached, so it's just as well that it's gone. It certainly doesn't bother me anymore."

George Napier had been wounded in the same battle that had cost Colborne the use of his shoulder. Sometime before a musket ball had struck Colborne from above, breaking his shoulder and arm in several places before lodging in the bone, Napier's lower arm had been shattered beyond salvation. While Colborne's musket ball had stayed concealed from the surgeons' attempts at extracting it for over a year leaving the Colonel to suffer through recurring infection and constant pain, Napier had been well enough once the initial fever had subsided, and would have gone right back on duty if the surgeons had let him. As it was, he had stayed with Colborne on the way back to Coimbra, where the wounded were collected, leaving him only when it became clear that it would be months before his friend would be able to make the trip to England.

If he seemed entirely unfazed by the loss of his right arm, that fact may have been owed at least in part to a wound taken in a battle earlier that year, when another ball had shattered his wrist and hand, leaving it a mostly useless appendage more likely to get in the way than anything else.

Now, Napier wore the right sleeve of his red coat pinned up close to the end of his stump to keep it from getting tangled up at the wrong moment, and the same easy-going smile on his face that he had always had.

"Harry here tells me you're Brigadier now," he said as he sat down again.

Colborne perched on the edge of the bench. A plate and cup were put in front of him, and a pitcher was brought out of a cold box. "We have no wine – only milk," Jean apologised, waiting to see if the offered beverage would be accepted.

"Milk is perfect," Colborne ensured him, followed by a nod in Napier's direction and corrected: "Temporary Brigadier."

"And everyone hopes that temporary command will last a long, long time," Harry threw in around a mouthful of food. "If Wellington has any sense at all, he'll leave our Colonel right where he is."

"Manners, Enrique," Juana chided. "You're setting a bad example for the children."

Harry ducked his head to hide a smirk.

"Does that mean I get the regiment?" Napier wanted to know. His expression clearly said that he already knew the answer.

"Temporarily," Colborne confirmed. "You'll have to give it back whenever Lord Wellington appoints a permanent brigadier." He tried the milk and found it just like everything else in this village: amazingly refreshing and invigorating.

"I will do so with great regret." He never lost his smile. "It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back."

Jean was filling his plate with scrambled eggs, frowning at the size of the portion and at Harry's undiminished appetite. "I'll make some more," he decided. He turned back towards the stove with his skillet even as he spoke.

"There's no need," Colborne assured him quickly. "This is quite sufficient!"

The snort that answered him was not very respectful. "Nonsense," Jean declared. "We have plenty to share." The golden-brown of Earth magic welled up from the young man, sinking into and through the handful off eggs he had taken out of a basket that did, indeed, seem to hold even more. How were these people keeping their land and their livestock so prosperous even during these times of war, when so many people around them were suffering? It was like – well, Magic.

Thinking of magic reminded him of something else. Did Napier have it? He tried to study the man unobtrusively, but he saw no sign of any elemental magic around him. Neither did any of the Elementals present react to the presence of a new, unfamiliar Master. There was none of the curiosity he had seen the local elementals give them when they arrived in a new location.

Harry also either had not told Napier of Colborne's new nickname, or Napier was showing unusual restraint in using it.

 _No Magic_ , Alexander whispered his agreement into Colborne's ear. _Him. No Magic._

Colborne sent a silent confirmation to his Salamander. Well, he could start practicing not letting people he cared about find out about the magic right here, then. He had all the incentive he could possibly need for keeping his secret. He certainly did not need a repetition of the Barnard situation.


	34. Chapter 34

Three days into their stay, they had settled in well. The villagers continued to be friendly and hospitable, the French far enough away from them to not cause trouble. The rains had started – according to the locals a common occurrence at this time of the year – making attacks unlikely to impossible.

Colborne sat at his table writing a letter and enjoying a cup of tea his hostesses had provided, when one of the children living at the Smiths' billet delivered a note in Harry's scrawled handwriting.

He frowned at the missive. Generally, he preferred a letter that bore the traces of the sender's personality on it rather than being the artificial, almost painted, calligraphy some people engaged in, but it would have been nice to keep things easily legible at least.

After another few moments of puzzling his way through Harry's scrawl, he gave up on the last two words and decided that the message as such was clear enough:

Would Colborne like to use the current lull in the rain for a ride? Harry had heard some illegible interesting thing from the villagers that he wanted to explore.

The letter could probably wait another few hours, and a ride sounded quite nice after being cooped up inside all day.

Alexander looked at him disapprovingly as he got up and took his coat. The Salamander did not approve of rain, even if it was only a drizzle, though he approved of letting Colborne go out on his own even less. He jumped onto his usual place on Colborne's right shoulder the moment it became clear that the man had no intention to stay inside, no matter what his fiery friend might think of it.

Colborne could have sworn he heard the Salamander sigh as he settled inside his coat.

Harry had apparently been very confident in Colborne's acceptance. He had two horses saddled and ready for them.

"We're not taking Juana along?" Colborne asked somewhat surprised.

The younger man shrugged. "She's so happy with the children back home, she didn't want to come. The weather may have had something to do with it, too." He grinned at his older friend. "I can't wait to have some of our own."

"Weather?" Colborne asked as he mounted, his grin hidden since his back was turned to Harry.

"Children!" Smith replied emphatically. "I wouldn't mind a dozen of them!"

"Not while we are still at war, I hope." Colborne's voice had grown sterner. He did not approve of fathering children who were likely to grow up fatherless in the end because their father's job happened to include making himself a target in war.

Harry scrambled onto his horse and turned it with his knees before even taking up the reins. "Maybe not," he agreed. "But once we're done here."

Colborne nodded. "So where are we going? I fear your handwriting wouldn't quite give up all its secrets."

At least he had the decency to look chagrined.

"There's a bridge, a bit of a way that way along the river," Harry elaborated.

"Alright," Colborne said, letting his horse fall in next to Harry's. "As you say, it's a river. They tend to have bridges."

"Ah, yes," Harry replied with a grin. "But this one is special."

Colborne waited. There was no way Harry could outwait him.

Indeed, they hadn't even reached the edge of the village when the younger man spoke again. "This one was built by _sorginak_ , they say."

Thinking back to the letter, Colborne suddenly realised that what he had put down to Harry's bad handwriting may in fact have quite simply been a foreign word he wasn't familiar with.

"So what are _sorginak_?" he asked.

"Elementals," Harry told him. "The Basques call them that. They use the same word for any Master or Mage, too. So I have no idea if they mean the bridge was Master-built or Elemental-built, but either way, there's got to be some interesting magic in it."

He certainly couldn't argue with that. "How far is it?"

"Shouldn't be more than a twenty minutes' ride. Too bad the ground's so soaked, or we could have made it in no time at all!"

Their way took them over the ridge of a long, narrow hill. Colborne turned his horse and took out his spyglass, looking in all directions. From up here, knowing what he was looking for, he could see the borders of the magically protected area, outlined in a sudden change of intensity and frequency of the magic he could see. Inside of what appeared to be a perfect circle, the magic shone like bonfires, marking the fields, the gardens, the water, and even places that he couldn't distinguish from the distance.

"It's amazing," he observed, much to Harry's amusement.

"You'll rarely find a protected area this large," Smith admitted after a moment. "My parents' place looks like this, but on a much, much smaller scale. Times have been bad for Masters and Mages practicing their skills where people can notice for a good long while."

Colborne nodded. He only needed to imagine what Mr Bargus would have had to say about his stepson practicing something called 'magic'.

"I'd love to see the circle that did this," Harry went on. "They have circles back home, but I've never seen one at work. First I was too young to be permitted to accompany my father and then I was with the army and not at home. I wonder if they'd let me watch them whenever they have their next session…"

"You could always ask Jean," Colborne suggested. He would have lied if he had claimed that he wasn't curious about how this kind of large-scale magic worked, but he did not expect anyone to give him, barely trained, access to that knowledge. That reminded him that he still needed to go looking for a Water Master in the village. So far, Jean's family had been the only Masters he had been in contact with – and most of them were children in or even before starting training. The point, though, was that they _did_ have someone to train them, and two of the girls were Water. He would ask at the first opportunity he got to do so in a polite fashion.

Harry shrugged. "He's barely sixteen," he said. "I wasn't allowed in a circle at that age."

The older man refrained from pointing out that at times, Jean appeared more mature than Harry, who had ten years on him, even now. "Let's go see the bridge," he decided instead, safely stowing away his spyglass and turning away from the village again.

The river was high from the rain, flowing rapidly and battering the banks on either side. The bridge was stone, built at the very edge of the valley, where the river had dug itself deep into the ground. Where the bridges over wider parts of the river spanned it in a series of arches, this one seemed to be built straight across the gorge, supported on powerful wooden beams.

Dismounting, Colborne wrapped the reins of his horse around the branch of a nearby tree and approached the construction on foot. It took him a moment to realise that Harry was no longer by his side.

Looking back, he saw Smith still mounted, apparently debating with himself.

"Are you coming?" he asked, mock impatience in his tone. "You wanted to see the bridge – and here it is. What are you waiting for?"

It wasn't really a question that needed an answer. Colborne knew as well as his companion that the torrents in the river bed below must be daunting for any Fire Master – even one called Harry Smith.

He glanced down, surprised at how comfortable he was leaning out over the edge.

"Don't do that!" he heard Harry, now approaching behind him on foot. "What if you fall in?"

Colborne laughed. "Smith, I think I would be safer down there in the water than I am up here," he claimed. He hadn't realised the truth of those words until he said them.

Once, he surely would have felt a sense of dread and danger just from staring down into that chasm of roiling water. Today, the only danger he could see was from the rocks on either side of the river – and there weren't as many of those than there would have been in a drier season.

In the waves with their white foamy crowns, he could see creatures dancing, beckoning to him. They weren't quite like the undines and naiads he knew, but they had to be similar enough.

 _Hello,_ he sent them a mental message. _How are you doing?_

Tinkling laughter of many voices welled up in his mind. _We are doing well, Master_ , one of them rose over the others. _The water is great fun this time of the year._

"Actually," Colborne decided, "I think I'll go and say hello properly."

Harry's eyes widened a little. "You're not going to climb down _there_ , are you?" he asked. "With your bad arm? Colonel, the brigade _needs_ you!"

Colborne laughed, not quite certain if Harry's concern was real or not. "I've climbed worse with that arm, and I have no intention to swim off with those Undines or Naiads or whatever they are."

" _Lamiak_ ," Harry supplied, still lacking his usual enthusiasm. "At least I think they would be. The locals call whatever Elementals dwell in the river _Lamiak_."

"I have no intention to swim off with those Lamiak, then," Colborne repeated. "I just want to have a closer look at them."

"Call some of them up here, then!" Harry suggested.

Colborne was already slowly making his way past the outer-most pillar of the bridge sliding a little on the wet ground but not in danger of losing his footing. "I want to see them _in their natural environment_ ," he informed his friend. "Why did you bring me here in the first place if you didn't want me to get close?"

"I wanted to look at the bridge, not the river," Harry muttered.

"Fine!" his commanding officer, already halfway to the water's edge now, called up "You look at the bridge – I'll look at the river!"

He decided that he couldn’t hear Harry's answer to that.

There were plenty of rocks to stand on, wet and slippery but safe enough, by the river. Ignoring the spray that was quickly drenching his uniform, causing Alexander to bury himself in deeper layers before quickly deciding that he would wait with Harry after all, Colborne crouched down there, scanning the water for the Elementals that were probably called Lamiak.

The first one he spotted surfaced within hand's reach of him, breaking the surface with another rain of droplets and shaking water out of a mane of hair as blonde as Colborne's own and drying rapidly out of the water. She wore the multi-layered dress and apron of the local women and regarded Colborne curiously.

"Hello, my pretty," Colborne told her. So far, every Elemental he had met had reacted well to some flattery.

She giggled. _Hello, handsome Master_ , she replied.

He couldn't help but grin. As far as he could remember, this was the first time one of them had reacted in kind.

_What is it you need?_

"I need nothing," Colborne assured her. "I only wanted to say hello and get to know you. I'm living in the village for a while. That way." He pointed.

 _We know the village._ Her face turned more serious. _Are you sure you do not have any task you need completed? Bridges built, fields ploughed?_

"I own neither rivers nor fields," Colborne explained. "I wouldn't know what to do with either if I had them. I'm only a visitor. Is it true then, that your kind builds bridges?" He didn't know, of course, if the Lamiak were the elementals who were supposed to have built the one above them, but her question made it a fairly good guess.

She nodded, pointing up with one finger. _Bridge_.

"So I see," Colborne confirmed.

 _Will you come in and swim with us?_ The Elemental asked.

He squinted at the river. He surely wasn't up to swimming against that current, and while he was reasonably sure that it wouldn't harm him, he didn't know where it would wash him if he did venture in. Besides… "I can't. My friend Harry is waiting for me up there. He'd have a heart attack if he saw me go into the water when it's flowing this fast. He's a Fire Master, you see."

The Elemental nodded sagely and pulled herself up onto the rock next to Colborne. _They can be so afraid of water sometimes_ , she sighed. _It's not like we'd hurt them. Play a bit, scare them a bit maybe, but we wouldn't_ harm _them._

Now wasn't that an interesting bit of information?

"Where we come from, Water isn't so polite to Fire," Colborne explained. "He probably doesn't know you wouldn't harm him." That was assuming she was even telling the truth there. Could Elementals lie?

She snorted, crawling a little higher and getting comfortable by Colborne's side. Standing up, she would have come roughly to his knee, her size similar to that of his Undines. As far as he could see, though, she was fully human down to the ankles. Below that, she sported a pair of what looked suspiciously like duck feet. _The Old One has taken a Fire One as her lover,_ she told him. _They would both be very displeased if they found us actually_ harming _one of his._

Her emphasis suggested that they might stop very short of what they considered harm, though. It was probably better for Harry Smith _not_ to get into the river on his own.

Colborne was getting curious now. "How do you build those bridges? No offence, but those stones look a bit … heavy."

At least she gave no sign of getting mad at him for the suggestion. _Our males are strong_ , she explained. _They can build bridges._

Oh. "Can I meet one?"

She seemed to consider – or maybe she was conversing with her sisters, floating nearby, watching them without interfering. A moment later, she gave him a rueful smile. _They are also quite shy._

"Then we should get along quite well," Colborne informed her. "I am really quite shy myself."

A series of expressions alternated on her face, going through various shades of amused to confused and back. _You don't seem shy_ , she finally noted.

"I pretend well."

_What are you doing with my Master?_

That voice, very familiar to Colborne except for the sharp tone, made them both turn around.

Isabel was sitting in the shallows, hands on her hips, looking deeply offended. _Go get a Master of your own to play with!_

"Isabel!" Colborne chided gently. "Manners! We are guests here!"

 _He sought me out!_ The Lamia retorted. _If I were you maybe I'd put a bit more effort into keeping my Master happy so he doesn't go looking for others!_

 _My Master has always been happy with us!_ Isabel declared. _He probably only wanted to make sure you're not doing any damage to the water._ She sidled out of the water and moved towards Colborne until she could put a hand on his leg. Whether it was to reassure her or him, he wasn't entirely sure.

 _We_ live _here!_ The local Elemental's voice was growing sharper by the syllable. _Remove yourself from our waters!_

 _I'm not in your waters!_ Isabel pointed out with a gesture to where she had just cleared the surface. _Actually, I wouldn't let the tip of my tail get into contact with your filthy water if I could help it!_

_Our river wouldn’t take you if—_

"Ladies! Stop it!" Colborne bellowed as if giving a command to his brigade.

Like his brigade, the two Elementals fell silent and looked at him, waiting for further instruction.

"There is no need to fight! Isabel, really! You've been fine sharing me with Sally and Eleanor and the others. What's gotten into you now? "

 _But they are my sisters_ , she insisted, pouting. _That's different_.

"And Alexander? Torche and Flambeau? Slpyhia? Bob? Are they your sisters, too?"

 _They are yours_ , her answer came immediately, as if she had already anticipated the question. _That is different._

"It's not." Colborne's tone was final. "And I expect you to treat the people whose _guests_ we are with respect."

She ducked her head, resisting another few seconds under Colborne's increasingly cool stare, before she finally gave in. _I'm sorry_ , she told the Lamina, the expression on her face carefully neutral. _I didn't mean it. But he is my Master._

"Isabel…" Colborne warned.

 _I'm sorry_ , she repeated.

The local Elemental inclined her head, accepting the apology for Colborne's sake at least, it seemed.

"Fine," the man said. "Now that that is settled…"

Harry's voice coming from above interrupted him. "Colborne! Colonel! I'm sure you're having a heap of fun down there, but you might want to look up for a change!"

He twisted around, looking to where Harry was standing at the end of the bridge.

"Not at me!" Harry yelled. "The sky! There's another one of those deluges coming."

He was right in that. Dark clouds were pushing themselves closer and closer sliding in slowly but unstoppably and bringing with them the torrents of rain that turned the ground into mud and would surely start mudslides soon.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Colborne told the Lamina. "I have to leave. My friend up there will not be happy with me if I make him ride back in the rain."

She looked at him sadly. _Will you be back?_

"If I can spare the time, I will. I cannot promise, though. You see, I have a Master, too, and he may order me to move elsewhere soon."

With an understanding nod, the Lamina slipped back into the river. _It was nice to meet you, Water Master_ , she told him even as she was swallowed by the waves.

"It was nice to meet you, too," Colborne told the river, sending the same message mentally so it would still be received.

Minutes later, Colborne was standing next to Harry, ready to leave.

Though apparently eager to get going only moments ago, Smith suddenly seemed oddly reluctant to mount.

"What is it?" Colborne wanted to know.

"I'd really like to know if Elementals built that bridge," Harry muttered.

Colborne chuckled. "You should have come down there with me after all. The Lamina lady informed me that their males are quite capable of building bridges and ploughing fields. She claimed this one as one of hers."

"They've got males?" Harry seemed surprised.

"She says they're quite shy."

Another glance at the sky gave Harry the incentive he needed to jerk free from the fascination he felt with the bridge and hurry back to his horse. "Great. Shy bridge building Water Elementals. No one's going to believe that if I write home about it."

Colborne climbed into the saddle as well. His horse was more than happy to get going, probably hoping, just like Harry, that he would reach his dry stable and his lunch before the downpour.

Riding in silence and as fast as the ground safely permitted, them, they barely made it.

The first drops fell when Colborne walked from the barn where his horse was stabled to his billet, leaving large round splashes on the bright red of his coat.

As if the weather had waited for him to get inside, the sound of pounding rain against window panes and the roof started as soon as he closed the door behind him.

A visitor was waiting in his room for him, sitting comfortably on the edge of Colborne's bed and reading in a volume of poetry he had borrowed from his hostesses, one finger marking the place where Colborne had last been.

George Napier looked up when Colborne entered. "Ah, Jack, there you are! I was hoping you'd be back in time for me to make it home dry." He glanced out the window with a sad look on his face, watching thick raindrops pound the cobblestone outside.

Following his eyes, Colborne had to smile at the sight of his Undines enjoying themselves outside.

Alexander gave a shudder at so much water and closed his eyes against the scene.

Napier turned his attention back to his friend. "Can you lend me your Brownie for a few hours, Jack?"

 


	35. Chapter 35

"My _what_?" Colborne asked perplexed. He didn't even have to fake his surprise. Napier hadn't seriously just asked him to lend him Bob… had he? He must have misheard _somehow_.

"Your Brownie," Napier repeated. "You do have a Brownie, don't you? Harry said you do."

"Harry told you I have a Brownie?" What had gotten into Smith? Since when did they go around and tell those not involved with magic all about their Elementals? Had he forgotten what happened with Barnard? He had been the one to tell Colborne where his dislike for everything magical came from after all. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"Because I asked him," Napier said patiently.

That wasn't making things any less confusing. "You asked him if I had a Brownie?"

The other man nodded. "Well, actually," he qualified the confirmation, "I asked him if any of you had one at hand, and he said the only Brownie in the Regiment belongs to you. So – could you lend him to me? Just for a few hours."

This must be some kind of joke, Colborne decided. Brownies were, after all, known as creatures of folk tales. Napier surely didn't mean an actual, real Brownie… did he? "What would you do with him if I had one?"

"You see…" Napier put the book he was still holding face-down on the pillow after turning it back to Colborne's page. "I gave my man off for the day because he had an invitation from a maid over at the place with the cows."

Now that could be just about every other family in the village, but Colborne assumed the precise whereabouts of the maid in question were of no consequence.

His friend went on: "But now I have a dinner invitation as well, and my clothes are still all crumpled up from the trip because he hasn't gotten around to pressing them properly and I can't show up looking like I crawled over on the floor."

Colborne refrained from pointing out that that would require spreading a generous helping of mud all over his clothes. "I seem to remember sending you a letter congratulating you on your marriage," he said instead. "What do you want with a dinner invitation?"

"Eat, talk, dance, have fun?" Napier suggested. "A harmless flirt won't hurt, either. Not in the clothes I've worn the last three days, though, and not in something looking like I left it in my trunk all this time."

Which was exactly what had happened, of course, and also seemed to point to Napier's servant being not much better at unsupervised work than Antonio was. Colborne couldn't help but find that strangely reassuring.

"Now, can I borrow your Brownie?" Napier asked again.

Colborne decided to change tactics. "What do you know about Brownies?"

Napier sighed. "They're Earth Elementals, they don't usually travel with the army because the army usually doesn’t have Earth Masters but they might be attached to a strong Water Master, as well. They do housework and they are very good at taking care of clothes, as evidenced by the fact that yours look better than they ever have. When did you suddenly turn Master anyway and why didn’t you join the navy if you are Water?"

His eyes narrowed as he listened to his friend. "I was already a Lieutenant Colonel in the infantry at the time my magic broke through," he explained. "Even if I'd wanted to, it'd be a bit late for me to switch, and I am actually quite happy where I am. Now, I was _told_ you don't have any magic." Colborne favoured Alexander with as stern a look as he could with the Salamander perched on his shoulder again.

The Fire Elemental nodded vigorously, just as Napier started to laugh.

"Oh, Jack," he said once he calmed down a little. "I don't. I'm from an entirely unmagical family, and if I did I'd hope that I'd have a Brownie of my own to give me a hand."

"How did you learn of it?" Colborne asked curiously. Napier seemed to take the entire concept of magic much better than Barnard did. Maybe it _did_ have something to do with Barnard growing up expected to show magical talent and being found sadly lacking.

"It's hard to miss when you're serving in Moore's Magical Regiment," Napier pointed out.

"Moore's Magical Regiment?" That was the first Colborne had heard of that. He resolved to give Harry a stern talking-to when he saw him next.

The other man nodded. "Didn't you notice the unusually high density of Mages and Masters here? They try to get in here if they can, and Moore was known for picking the really powerful ones where he could."

"To be quite honest," Colborne admitted, "I have absolutely no idea of the usual 'density' of Mages and Masters anywhere. It seems that you do, in fact, have more knowledge of some things magical than I do. "

Napier grinned at him. "That's nice. Now, can I borrow your Brownie?"

*

The rains continued, and Colborne spent the next day trying to put a shield that let in air while keeping water out on his window. It would have been a lot easier the other way around, as he found out quite quickly in his first attempts.

As it was, most of his morning was spent building and breaking down shields. He had a rough idea of what he wanted, and he thought that he knew how he had to go about it. Practice, however, turned out to be a lot more complicated than theory, and it took him the better part of the day to build the desired shield.

It worked eventually, at least on the relatively small opening of a window. He would have to try it out outside, as an added layer to his shields, later. If it worked, he could use it to keep himself dry, at least when out of sight of those who couldn't know about magic. And of George Napier, he amended in thought. _He_ would probably ask him to share the shield, and he had absolutely no idea how to put a shield on another person – or how to make it go away when the other person was in a situation in which he couldn't be seen with magic on him.

Usually, Colborne wouldn't have minded getting wet. He hadn't minded a great deal before his magic had come out, and he certainly cared even less about whether he got wet or not now that water felt like a good old friend and he had the ability to shed it quickly when he desired to be dry. Wet clothes acquired wrinkles more easily, though, as Bob had informed him coolly after returning from helping out George and enjoying the little feast the present commander of Colborne's old regiment had treated him to.

With the weather wet and cool, but not cold outside and hardly any wind to speak of, Colborne left the window open to watch his shield. Some, he had found, were much more liable to dissipate into thin air than others. He would have to wait and see which kind this one would turn out to be. Maybe some day he would learn how to predict things like that. Right now, it was a matter of observing and drawing conclusions from that.

He was immersed in his Water Magic book, re-reading a chapter focusing on what was called Ley Lines. It explained about flows of raw magic in the ground, reminiscent of brooks, joining and combining into rivers, then streams, gaining power with increasing size. They could be tapped by a Master and used to enhance his strength as well as his stamina by avoiding depleting his own power. They held a lot more power than an actual river of water would, though they were much rarer. On the other hand, they could be tapped by any Master alike, while tapping a river was limited to those associated with the Element of water.

The book was, however, sadly lacking in information on how to do the tapping or, indeed, on how to find a ley line to begin with. Colborne had read and reread the chapter with care, trying to read the obvious as well as whatever information may have been hidden between the lines, but to no avail.

He had asked Harry, who had looked at him, smiled broadly and started to say: "You see, Colonel, I didn't really…"

"… pay attention to that," Colborne had finished along with him.

Juana had rolled her eyes and swatted at her husband. "Really, Enrique," she said. "Not long, and Colborne here will have outdone you in magical theory."

That had drawn a good-natured laugh from the younger man. "I think that may already have happened, my love," he declared.

They shared a chuckle about that, treating it as a joke. Nevertheless, Colborne couldn't help but wonder. Harry was a very practice-oriented man. While quite capable of applying his mind to a problem if he had to, he preferred the hands-on approach. Could he have been more serious about that statement than was evident at first glance?

Colborne's thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of motion by his window.

Looking up, he saw the transparent shape of an Air Elemental outside, carefully – or curiously? – testing the shield to see what it would do. It was one of those messenger Ravens that sometimes carried Wellington's commands to the masters among his officers. Colborne still didn't know whose they actually were. He assumed there must have been some Master of Air among Wellington's staff. Maybe his secretary.

He could hardly walk up to the men around his commander in chief and ask them if any of them happened to be an elemental master. Of course Harry and Juana probably would have known, but he didn't want the two to feel like he might be looking for a different teacher. Even though he had had to figure out most things on his own, he thought that between the three of them they weren't doing that bad a job.  

"You can come in," Colborne said in the Raven's direction. "It's only meant to keep the rain out."

The Raven looked at him with its head cocked sideways and an air of _I knew that and I wasn't intruding because I in contrast to some people, I wasn't brought up in a barn_ for a moment before hopping forward with a quick flap of its wings propelling it into the room. It lit on the back of a chair and waited.

That was unusual. Usually, they came right up to him and shouted whatever commands they brought in his ear before taking off again.

"Well?" Colborne asked it after a minute of staring at each other. "Didn't you have anything to tell me?"

The Raven shook itself, ruffling feathers that were about as substantial as a tiny breeze, and launched itself off of its perch again, to land on Colborne's shoulder instead.

Once there, it opened its beak, speaking in Lord Wellington's voice.

"Colonel, I shall require your attendance in a matter of some importance. Be ready with your horse at sunrise tomorrow. You will be representing your element in a meeting with the local masters."

That was all that his commander seemed to believe he needed to know at that moment.

In fact, Colborne assumed, it was. He would have liked to be prepared for whatever he was going to be asked to do, while at the same time being quite aware that there most likely was no way that he could have been properly ready to face the task.

Well, he'd be up in time – he would have been anyway – and his horse would be saddled, and he'd take it from there.

He nodded to the Raven. "Understood," he said. "I'll be ready. Anything else?"

The last was said more out of reflex than with the expectation of getting any more out of those Elemental. They never said any more than what they had been told to repeat. Answering questions was not part of what they did.

To his surprise, however, the Raven opened its beak again.

"Wear your best," it said, in a voice quite different from Wellington's. "You are going to be representing the English forces as a whole with us."

With that, the elemental took off and dashed out through the window and into the rain.

Colborne wordlessly nodded even though there was no one to see it. So he'd have to find Antonio and ask him to get his dress uniform ready, he assumed. Or maybe Bob would be the better choice.

That voice had been interesting, though. He had heard it before, and more than once:

That had been Edward Pakenham, Wellington's brother in law and a member of his staff.

Did that mean that Pakenham was an Air Master?

Not necessarily, Colborne decided. He could have just dictated to someone else's Raven of course, just like Wellington did. Then again, considering the relationship of the men, it would have stood to reason that the commander in chief would use the elementals of his own wife's brother.

It was also quite interesting that the last order had come from Pakenham, rather than Wellington. The Field Marshal probably was a lot more concerned about his military or – in this case – magical performance than the state of his clothes.

*

Nevertheless, Colborne stood ready, wearing his dress uniform and feeling quite out of place in it, the next morning. Without even being asked, Bob seemed to have decided that his horse's tack needed to be gone over as well. It had been cleaned up, the leather oiled, the buckles polished to a bright metal sheen. Colborne didn't think he had ever seen his horse look so fine before.

If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed that some of the oil that had gone on the leather had also made it onto his gelding's coat. The horse seemed to have been polished up as well.

Come to think of it, he _didn't_ know better. In fact, he had no idea what a brownie did when he thought he needed to prepare someone's horse. Colborne silently resolved to leave out a particularly large meal for Bob that night. He hadn't even asked him to take care of the animal.

He went back inside for a quick breakfast as he waited for further orders. The Raven had not told him to come to a specific location, but only to be ready. Someone would surely be sent for him.

It was a good thing that he decided against accepting his hosts' offer of putting a proper breakfast in front of him and asked only for a quick snack that he could eat standing up instead. They had a thing or two to say about his boss expecting him to jump at his call, in spite of Colborne's assurances that this was quite normal in the army, and he expected no less of his own soldiers, if the situation called for it.

There was a smart rap on the door, followed immediately by the slight creak of its opening, and Colborne grabbed the last piece of bread and cheese without turning.

"I'm coming," he said, even as he head one of the sisters round in on the messenger with a variation of the complaints they had previously put to Colborne.

The colonel turned, just in time to see the man who had come to collect him answer with a straight face and a hint of an Irish accent discernible even in his French: "I shall let him know, ma'am."

"See that you do!" the woman repeated, and proceeded to press a piece of bread and a generous chunk of cheese on the man. "Here, take this. I bet he didn't let you have any proper breakfast either!"

Colborne turned away from the scene of his landlady standing before a man no taller than she was, his red hair looking quite recently cut and betraying more than the usual grey at the temples, squinting at the offered food along his considerable nose.

"Go on, take it," the woman encouraged him. "We have plenty."

She must have taken him for a servant, lowlier than the soldiers with their pretty uniforms even. That, Colborne mused, was probably no fault of hers. Dressed as always in white breeches and that same blue coat that had seen most of the war alongside its owner, taking as much abuse as could be expected for any piece of clothing that was dragged from battlefield to battlefield – though surely mended at need with much greater skill than anything Antonio could manage with Colborne's clothes –, he surely didn't look much like the great strategist he was, with the power of the entire English army behind him.

"Thank you," he finally said – what else could he have done? – as he accepted the gift. Then his voice grew sharper. "Colborne!"

The man so addressed turned back, his features appropriately serious now. "I'm coming," he said, following up on his words by walking out the door.

"They must think we're starving," Wellington commented as the two masters were walking side by side to where he had left his horse. The boy Colborne had left to watch his own mount had had the presence of mind to lead it over, making their departure that much more efficient.

"That, milord, is a permanent state of mind for them," Colborne informed his commander. Especially, if the subject of their attentions is male, of marriageable age and generally not considered too ugly, he added in thought, but refrained from saying any such thing out loud. The last thing he needed was Lord Wellington showing up at his door step at a regular basis to try and see how far either of the sisters would be willing to go. As Harry had pointed out, the man seemed to consider faithfulness to one's wife to be nothing more than a vague suggestion.

Not about to pass judgement on his commander's conduct out of the field any more than he could help it, Colborne turned his attention to the third horse waiting, and the third man of their party.

There was Ned Pakenham, brother in law to the Field Marshal and, unmistakably from this close up, surrounded by the power of Air. Like Colborne, he was dressed in his best. He looked down at Colborne from the lofty heights of his charger, and nodded briefly. "Colonel," he acknowledged with a brief nod and a look that clearly conveyed _I'm glad my message was received._

Colborne nodded back, though somewhat more deeply than Pakenham had. "Sir."

"Mount up, Colonel," Wellington ordered as he took his horse's reins in one hand and reached for his stirrup with the other. "We have an appointment to keep."

 


	36. Chapter 36

They must have been quite a sight to anyone already up to watch. Colborne and Pakenham in dress uniform, mounted on horses tall enough to raise their riders well above the soldiers they would command – in Colborne's case, a necessity owed to his own tall build, in Pakenham's surely more a concession to his vanity – following Wellington, dressed as always, riding his favourite horse. Between the two others, the commander in chief should have looked shabby, and Copenhagen under him like a pony. Somehow, man and steed managed to avoid either.

 

Wellington rode in silence, and Colborne saw no reason to speak up, though he thought with no little amusement about the chatter Harry would have put up to fill the air.

 

It was Pakenham who spoke as soon as the condition of their path forced them to switch from an easy canter to a careful slow trot.

 

"This will be a meeting of masters, not of military people," he pointed out, clearly addressing Colborne without saying as much.

 

Colborne nodded, and refrained from asking why they were dressed up in their best uniforms then. The answer to that seemed clear: Because someone had decided they needed to look particularly presentable. He was reasonably sure that he knew who, as well. It surely hadn't been the Field Marshal.

 

Wellington's brother in law continued: "Once there, we will stand with our respective elements. Neither of us knows fully what kind of working they have in mind, but unless it has the potential of harming our success against Napoleon, do what you can to help."

 

Another nod came from the Colonel as he wondered where Wellington would stand. Was he going to join the Fire Masters, or would they have a section reserved for ice? Were there more of those, or would he stand on his own? With a start, Colborne realised that he had never seen any of his commander's elementals at all.

 

He wasn't given any time to wonder about that. Pakenham went on: "If we were in England, we would be issued robes and staffs for the circle. I expect this will be different here."

 

That, Colborne thought, translates into 'I don't think these peasants can afford either'. He nodded, to indicate that he had heard and that Pakenham could go on.

 

"I would give you more guidance if I could, but I know little more about how the locals do things than you do."

 

Though he would have appreciated having it, Colborne had not asked for any guidance, and certainly not from Ned Pakenham. He wondered why the man thought it necessary to provide it anyway. How aware was he of Colborne's lack of a proper education in magic? Was it the subject of talk among the Masters in the wider army? Had Wellington informed him when he had told him who the Water Master they were going to take along was? Was his own blundering so evident that it took neither?

 

Some kind of acknowledgement seemed to be required of him, so he nodded. "I understand."

 

"In a circle," the man riding next to him said, just as if he had never interrupted himself, "Air stands to the east—"

 

"Fire to the south, Water to the west, Earth to the north," Colborne finished with him. He had read that at least. It couldn't hurt to inform Pakenham that he may not have been as uninformed as the man seemed to think.

 

"Just so," the other man answered, a grudging tone to his voice, following with a question a moment later: "Where do you have your focal stone?"

 

That brought Colborne up short. He knew some masters used focal stones, but none of the ones he knew in person did. Maybe the ring that had cost Daniel Cadoux his finger had once been intended as one. Maybe it had been one. The man wasn’t much of a master, but at the time, Colborne had been less so. He wasn't sure he would have noticed one way or the other. The way it had been wrapped up, it was quite possible, though.

 

He himself had never even considered getting one so far. Even if he had been, he had no idea where he would have gotten one from. Emerald, which was what Water used as a focus according to the book Harry had given him, didn't exactly grow on trees, for all that it was green. He certainly didn't have the money to buy even a raw one, and if he did he wouldn't have the money to have it cut and set.

 

A quick glance at Pakenham's hands revealed a heavy ring there, and a shift of his vision to take in magic more easily showed it shining with Air power so brightly it felt blinding. He toned down his magical perception quickly, and the glare reduced to a dull sheen. That was better.

 

While Colborne's question was thereby answered, Pakenham was still waiting, and there was nothing for Colborne but to confess. "I have none," he admitted.

 

He could see various emotions flitting over Pakenham's face as the man seemed uncertain whether to be alarmed, outraged or insulted.

 

Both their dilemmas were solved by their commander.

 

"The man summons elementals by inviting them to dinner," Wellington said, his voice dry in spite of the amount of sarcasm it was dripping. "He'll not need a focal stone for a simple circle."

 

"We don't know it'll be a simple circle," Pakenham insisted.

 

Colborne almost winced. There were few people who took that tone with their commander in chief.

 

Wellington laughed. "What?" he asked. "You think they'll introduce us, strangers, to their greatest secrets? I don't think so. It'll probably be some tedious, boring matter that no one really wants to take care of. You're worrying too much, Ned."

 

"You're not worrying enough, brother," Pakenham shot back.

 

This was getting personal quickly, and Colborne tugged at his reins to let his horse fall back a little. He didn't think he had any place in that discussion.

 

"You're worrying enough for both of us and then some," Wellington snapped, and Colborne couldn't help but think that the argument had just turned somewhat more personal than they were letting on. "Do so quietly and let us enjoy our ride."

 

Apparently well aware of when there was no point in persisting, Pakenham did as he was bid, though Colborne doubted that he enjoyed the ride. He himself took the opportunity to look around and admire the landscape. They were riding on a trail that snaked its way up into the hills. It seemed a goat path more than an actual road at this point, though both of the other Masters seemed to know where they were going.

 

Shifting his sight towards the magical, Colborne tried to spot any kind of marker or sign that they might be following. He found none. Maybe the invitation had simply contained a good description of the way. Maybe the Field Marshal had actually scouted the route beforehand.

 

They rode in silence through the damp morning, climbing higher until they finally caught up with a group of locals ambling along the same path. They were easily recognisable as farmers by their clothes. Some of them rode mules, others horses clearly more suitable for farm work than for carrying a rider.

 

The three officers were greeted with nods, and once Wellington inclined his head in turn, his two companions followed suit. If he hadn't already had a feeling that anyone coming this way right at this time must have been on the way to the same place that they were, and therefore probably masters in their own right, Colborne would have had to guess so now. His commander was not known for any displays of respect towards a mere peasant otherwise.

 

Magic, it seemed, overrode differences of class.

 

They brought their hoses to a halt near the top of the hill. Two boys, maybe ten years old and with the stray wisps of magic about them that gave away those who had not progressed far enough in their training, shot out of the group of people that had already collected near a rock face, ready to take the reins and lead the horses away the moment the officers' boots touched the ground.

 

Since his commander didn't seem to think anything of it, Colborne surrendered his mount as well, falling into step behind the higher-ranking men as they approached the group.

 

Conversation stopped when they approached. Eyes were turned towards them. With some unease, Colborne realised that many, if not most of them, were resting on him. He would have liked to put it down to the fact that he was the tallest, or that it was his blond hair or the dress uniform that drew their attention.

 

Before he could get more nervous about it, though, he spotted a familiar face.

 

Jean waved at him, making his way over to the three officers. "Good morning, Colonel," he said cheerfully. "Nice to see you up here."

 

"Nice to see you, too," Colborne replied. "Since when are you calling me Colonel?"

 

"Thought it might be more appropriate with them around," Jean pointed out, nodding towards Wellington and Pakenham, who were engaging in a whispered debate about something or another.

 

Colborne gave his one-sided shrug. "We're not here as army people, I'm told, no matter the sparkly uniforms. 'Master' is entirely appropriate." So would have been "Colborne", but Jean had never even tried to call any of them by anything but their magical titles.

 

The young man nodded. "Fine then, Master. Are you ready for some work?"

 

"I hope so," Colborne said truthfully. "To be honest, this is my first circle of any kind." He glanced around. "I don't think I've ever seen this many masters in one place before either."

 

That drew a laugh from the Earth Master. "You should see the _akelarre_ when most of the younger men aren't serving in some army or another," he said.

 

"I would love to." Colborne could roughly imagine how many more there would have been in that case. As it was, most of the people present were older men and women, along with several young people who were hardly more than children and seemed to have more of a supporting role, taking care of horses, carrying and fetching for the others.

 

Even though more people – more masters – were arriving by the minute, the number of people standing around them didn't seem to increase. Colborne looked around to see where they were all disappearing to, and after a moment spotted a dark opening in the rock or the mountain side.

 

A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed when a pair of women in heavy wool skirts ducked through it.

 

"Yes," Jean said, as if he had asked a question. "We should go inside, as well."

 

"Then let's." That was Wellington, speaking from behind Colborne. Whether he and Pakenham had come to any kind of agreement or whether they had simply stopped arguing, Colborne didn't know or care.

 

Instead, he nodded and turned towards the entrance, letting Wellington walk before him. Even if they were not here as representatives of the army, the other man was still his superior – _he_ had a proper magical education and did not need to read beginners' books at well past thirty.

 

Jean fell into step next to him. He seemed almost eager to get to the cave.

 

Of course he was an Earth Master. Colborne figured that would mean that he would feel entirely at ease underground.

 

By extension of that…

 

He looked at Wellington's brother in law, who was turning decidedly pale over the collar of his red jacket.

 

Scanning the faces of the other masters, Colborne thought he could identify those of Air even without looking at their magic. The locals seemed a little less nervous than Pakenham, though. They had probably done this many times and knew what was waiting for them.

 

Even with his Alliance with Air, Colborne felt nothing negative as he stepped into the cave. Quite the opposite in fact. It was a large, round place enclosed by walls so smooth they must have been artificially created. Magic, he assumed. Very old magic, his magical vision told him when he looked at them. This room must have been here for centuries, used by generation upon generation of masters for whatever business they were doing here. He could see layers of magic on top of each other, ranging in colour through the entire spectrum. Most of them matched well, in spite of their differences, like a quilt made up carefully to form a harmonious whole. Some patches shone through differently. Were those bits of magic left behind by visitors like them, he wondered, whose magic were added but did not merge with the local ones as well?

 

He turned his attention to the floor, where he could make out intricate designs of magic, marking the cardinal directions as well as several other things that he could not assign a specific meaning to quickly. All the designs shone brightly, illuminating the cave as long as he kept his perception of magic turned on to its fullest. Every single one of them was made up of all four kinds of magic.

 

The stream through the opening stopped when there were enough people inside to make the space full without being quite crowded. It could probably hold twice as many if they stood close together. As it was, it was probably not too bad that they did not have to do that. While Wellington was moving around the cave as if he was walking in bright daylight, Pakenham tried to stay as far to the centre of it as he could, and with as much distance from anything that moved as the space allowed.

 

Another few minutes passed with chatter all around them, before, as if at a secret sign, a hush fell over the cave.

 

Then, four of the young people Colborne took to be apprentices came in, each carrying an armful of long wooden rods. With his magical sight still on to its fullest, it didn't take Colborne more than a glance to see that out of the four, one each was Earth and Water, while two were Fire. An Air apprentice was apparently not expected to enter the cave.

 

Without any kind of hurry, people slowly gravitated towards one or the other of the youths to accept one of the rods – wands, probably.

 

Colborne stepped into the line forming before the girl bearing the willow ones. Wellington was already wielding an ash rod, and Pakenham was just joining his fellow Air Masters.

 

The wand felt strangely heavy in his hands, full of magic that made it feel as if he were holding a length of wave. He wondered if anyone had charged it, similar to the way Benoit's artefact had been charged – but using only Water magic.

 

He didn't have much time to pursue those thoughts.

 

The men and women who had accepted their wands were moving into the corners of the room.

 

Corners? Colborne shook his head about himself. A round room had no corners!

 

They _felt_ like corners, though, and as he scanned the floor once more, he could see the signs outlining not a circle but a square in the room, touching the walls of the cave at the points.

 

Colborne moved along with the other Water Masters, coming to stand at the edge of the section apparently meant for them, on the side where Water bordered Fire.

 

He felt the familiar presence by his side without looking away from the other Water Masters. Wellington had taken up position next to him.

 

"Well, Colborne," he heard his commanding officer whisper in English. "This should get interesting any moment now."

 

As far as Colborne was concerned, it was quite interesting already, but he nodded.

 

A moment later, one of the masters started to speak. He was an old man, his hair thin and his beard, though thicker, a snowy white. Colborne couldn't understand the words, which were Basque, rather than French or Spanish. He kept an eye on what everyone else was doing.

 

He managed to be only a fraction behind when the local Masters brought up their staves, holding them horizontally so they overlapped on either side with those of their neighbours, and gripping the points where they crossed.

 

Physical contact facilitated links between Masters, as Colborne knew. The hand of the woman to his right was cold on his own. Water power flowed steadily into and through him, mingling with his own. It felt quite comfortable.

After a moment's hesitation, he put his left hand on top of his commanding officers.

 

He almost winced at the surge of power that shot into him. Wellington's magic was icy cold at the same time as burning him, leaving him wondering that his hand wasn't acquiring any blisters.

 

Another few seconds later, the circle was closed, and the distinct feeling of two magical presences pressing in on him from either side – feeling so different and yet somehow alike – was replaced by a sudden, exhilarating storm of euphoria that threatened to carry him away.

 

Focusing on where he was, on the smell of the air inside the cave, the coolness on his skin, the somewhat uncomfortable pressure from a boot that could have fit better than it did, kept him rooted in the here and now.

 

As he observed, flows of Magic were released by the assembled Masters, fed to the old man who apparently led the circle.

 

With only a bit of hesitation, Colborne released his grip on his magic a little, letting a strand of it join the thickening braid of the others.

 

He felt the magic being seized, not forcefully, but with determination, rerouted, directed, used…

 

… and then he was no longer standing in the circle.

 

He wasn't standing anywhere at all, in fact, but floating, on his own, above the mountaintop in which they had their meeting in the cave, suspended in thin air.

 

For a moment, he wanted to panic. Only a firm grip on his mind kept him calm enough to think.

 

As he focused, he _could_ feel his body, remotely, distantly, somewhere below him.

 

It wasn't gone, wasn't lost. He could sink down and return to himself.

 

At least he thought so.

 

Trying to follow the idea up with the deed, he willed himself towards the ground, surprising himself at how easily he moved at the mere thought of returning.

 

He had almost reached the wall of rock, ready to sink through it, when he felt a presence at the back of his mind.

 

_What are you doing, Colonel?_

 

That was Wellington's voice, and the way it sounded inside his mind suggested that he wasn't hearing an echo of what was going on down in the cave.

 

 _I'll be right back_ , Colborne thought back at his commanding officer.

 

Wellington's reaction felt as if someone was shoving at him from below, though he had no idea how that was supposed to work if he was outside of his body. How could you push a mere spirit?

 

The Field Marshal did not seem to let considerations like that stop him. He just _did_.

 

 _Don't be silly, Colborne_ , he hissed. _Have a look around. Return when you're called. Report if you find any area in need of magical repair to make our hosts happy, and otherwise keep an eye out for the French. If you can get a look at their posts anywhere, report to me afterwards. Now off with you._

 

Another push followed, and out of reflex, without expecting it to actually get any kind of reaction at all, Colborne pushed back.

 

He could feel the impact, though not physical, and winced – or what passed for it in his current state. He would surely hear more about that later.

 

For the moment, however, the presence that was Wellington sped off, and Colborne targeted the opposite direction, gliding over the countryside and keeping his eyes open, uncertain of what he was looking for at all.

 

Opening himself up to the magic even more, and calling his magical sight to the fullest, he could almost perceive the Masters spreading out as presences marked by spots that were not quite shadows or clouds, but still somewhat different from the surrounding air, though he couldn't have said how. Below him, he could see strands of magic spreading out, soaking the ground, cleansing what was at risk of being contaminated, refreshing shields.

 

So that was how they did it.

 

He moved along quickly, stopping occasionally to cast a thought back and make sure that he could still feel his body.

 

Even at the longer distance, the connection to it did not seem to weaken. How far could he go like this?

 

The answer came when his forward motion stopped, as if he were being held back by a leash or rein.

 

A good look around and below told him that he had reached the edge of the cleansed area.

 

Turning aside, he floated down the perimeter, casting glances backwards as well as out over the countryside.

 

Below, a small river caught his attention. Looking quite fine to the unaided eye, its magical colours were pale and washed out.

 

Was this the kind of thing he was supposed to report? And how? Some instructions would have been nice.

 

 _I've got something here_ , he through backwards towards the cave along the connection to his body, simply trying his luck and hoping that someone who knew what to do would catch it.

 

The answer came instantly, in the form of raw power slamming into him through the same link.

 

He felt dizzy for a moment, as if he was being spun around in mid-air. Then he managed to grab a hold of the power and direct it, letting it flow through himself and deflecting it downwards, using the same techniques that he would have applied to the river if he had tried to cleanse it with his own magic.

 

It worked, though the power that was fed into him from behind was by far more powerful than anything he could have ever hoped to produce.

 

Once the river shone in a bright, healthy green again, he turned away, holding on to the power only loosely and letting go the moment he felt a tug on it. Maybe someone else needed it right then.

 

How many could they supply at the same time anyway?

 

Resisting the temptation to drop in on Harry and Juana and see if they would spot his presence, he got back to inspecting the area.

 

He found two more spots where the magic had worn thin. By the time he was working on the third, he anticipated the surge and instead of containing it at first, merely let it flow through him, which successfully avoided the dizziness.

 

A hint of French colours flashed by a castle, well outside the borders of the magically cleansed area, but within sight from where he was. He abandoned his quest for places in need of magical repair for the moment.

 

Unable to move farther out, he directed his mind higher instead, hoping to get a better look at their numbers and any further information he could glean.

 

He wasn't given a lot of time. Before he was sure that he had seen all there was to see, he felt a tug, not on the magic, but on _him_.

 

Instead of resisting, he let himself be reeled in.

 

Within moments, he was back in the cave, where the circle was standing motionless.

 

As he watched, the first few Masters were starting to move carefully, as if stiff after a long time spent motionless.

 

Well, he was back, but how did he get back _inside_?

 

Remembering earlier, he focused on the things he – his body – could feel, closing his mental eyes to better focus as he did so.

 

Cool air; slightly stale taste; ill-fitting boot;

 

Someone coughed, and Colborne looked around to see who it was, noting with satisfaction that he was precisely where he had wanted to end up.

 

 _I found something_ , he thought at Wellington through the link formed by their still-touching hands.

 

A wordless affirmative was returned. Surely they would talk about it later.

 

As the last of the Masters returned, the circle broke up. Hands were released, wands lowered.

 

How long had they been gone?

 

It had felt like hours to him, but his arms would have felt much heavier if they'd been holding up even the light willow rod for that long.

 

As if on cue, the apprentices returned, collecting the staves.

 

The Air Masters crowded back out through the entrance. Everyone else lingered a little, trying not to block the way of those who felt most acutely uncomfortable underground. Wellington was speaking to a woman of early middle age who had been standing among the Fire Masters. Pakenham had fled the cave with the other Masters of his Element.

 

Without any immediate purpose, Colborne joined then men and women who were now slowly filing outside, some chatting, others silent, but each and everyone with a satisfied expression that stemmed from awareness of a large task well completed.


	37. Chapter 37

By the time Colborne stepped out of the cave, Pakenham was deep in discussion with a local Air Master. The two were well-matched in haughtiness, or so it seemed in any case.

 

If he had expected Wellington to give him an earful about his earlier accidental treatment of his commanding officer, he was to be disappointed. The short man was already drifting in and out of the clusters of men and women, talking and laughing, apparently entirely at ease among them.

 

There weren't as many as there had been in the circle. Some of the men and women had left the moment they had come outside, some were leaving right now, either wordlessly or mentioning some work to be done at home.

 

Colborne stood aside, observing and watching. He didn't feel quite up to joining any of the conversations, most of which seemed to centre on magical workings he had no hopes of understanding yet.

 

Yet? He didn't know if he would ever come that far.

 

Keeping his ears open and his mind sharp, he tried to catch and file away as much of it as he could for later perusal. He would surely ask the Smiths about a few things. Maybe he could get Jean to explain some details, as well.

 

As if summoned by the thought, the young man seemed to materialise by Colborne's elbow. The Earth Masters were blending in with the mountainside here exceptionally well, it seemed.

 

"How did you like our little circle and cleansing?" he asked without further ado.

 

Colborne inclined his head with a smile. "It was most impressive," he said. "I have never seen anything quite like it before, and certainly not experienced it."

 

"Do circles work differently on your island?" the young man wanted to know.

 

He shrugged. "I don't quite know," he admitted. "I have never been in one."

 

That took Jean by surprise. Colborne realised that while his status as a Master was general knowledge among the local magic users, and his unusual association with elementals seemed to be at least somewhat known, they had no reason to know how recently his powers had awakened.

 

Even he found it quite shocking when he thought that it had only been half a year since his sudden transition from being entirely uninformed of anything beyond the ordinary world to living in a world that went so much farther and that he had not even suspected to exist before.

 

"I came into my powers late," Colborne said as explanation without going into the details. "Very late. I am not well connected in the magical world of my home."

 

Jean nodded, though the younger master's eyes told the colonel that that was not the last they would talk about the matter. For now, though, his eyes fastened on something – or someone – behind Colborne.

 

His magic still quite open and perceptive after the work in the circle, Colborne felt them approach.

 

One was water, one air, and two fire.

 

He turned slightly, acknowledging that he had noticed them. They weren't only coming vaguely their way – they were heading straight for them.

 

They exchanged nods and greetings. Colborne couldn't help but notice that he was being looked over, and he reciprocated a little, though he had to spread out his attention between the four of them.

 

The Water master was a woman, tall and slender, her greying hair held back by braids on either side of her face. She was dressed plainly, though in fabric a notch above that of most other locals.

 

The Air one was old. Snowy white hair and a wispy beard made him look almost like one of the spirits that he commanded.

 

The Fire masters were women, as well, one young, with untamed black hair framing a face that suggested she had already seen some hardships beyond her years, the other past her prime, white streaking hair once as black as her companion's, and with the comfortable appearance of a grandmother.

 

The feeling of power centred on the oldest and the youngest of them, though the other two did seem quite formidable in their own right.

 

Colborne looked at each in turn. "Masters," he said respectfully. "What can I do for you?"

 

The brief look that passed between the four was not lost on him. Apparently the verdict was that, being of the same element as he was, the Water master was to speak first.

 

"They say," she began without preamble. "That you have an Alliance with Fire and that you are keeping Fire Elementals in your household. I cannot believe this is true."

 

She might as well have said "we", from the way the others were nodding.

 

With a thought, he coaxed Alexander out of his collar. "I have some Fire friends," he said. "I'm not keeping them by force."

 

The other Water Master eyed the Salamander with some distaste, as if Colborne had just produced a hairy spider out of his shirt. The others were watching Alexander, whose tiny eyes went warily from one to the next.

 

The younger Fire Master reached out with hand and magic, trying to touch the Elemental.

 

Startled, Alexander dove back into his hiding place.

 

"Get it back out," the young woman demanded.

 

Colborne's smile betrayed nothing of his annoyance. "I am trying," he said. "You scared him. It'll take some convincing before he'll come back out." It was true. He _was_ trying, though not very successfully.

 

"Don't you have command over it?" the Water master asked, exhibiting uncharacteristic impatience.

 

Colborne was unfazed by it. "Actually, I don't know," he admitted, smiling. "I have never tried. I generally don't command my elementals, and least of all Alexander."

 

He could feel the surprise and disapproval of the four. Even if it hadn't been _Alexander_ of all elementals, he would have known better than to try and coerce anything connected to Fire. He did not expect his Alliance to survive any attempt of that.

 

Eventually, the Salamander poked his snout out again.

  
The next moment, Colborne felt a thread of Fire shoot out towards them, connecting not with him but with the Elemental.

 

While he heard nothing of the conversation that must have ensued between Elemental and Master, the increasingly insulted posture of his little friend told him all he needed to know. Alexander's tail tightened on his arm and the hot little muzzle rubbed reassuringly along Colborne's cheek and jawline a few times.

 

"Amazing," the Fire Master declared.

 

A look bordering on disgust came over her Water companion's face. "I don't see what's amazing about it," she claimed. "It's not right, taking an Elemental of the opposite element.”

 

While Colborne was still uncertain of how to react, the Fire Master who had talked to Alexander laughed. "I bet you wouldn't be able to even if you wanted," she pointed out.

 

"And rightly so," the other woman shot back. "Our elementals here know better than that anyway."

 

"Now, I am not so sure of that," the Air Master interjected with a sidelong glance at the phoenixes that were waiting for Colborne off to one side.

 

Colborne did not bother to point out that Alexander, too, was not English. He was, however, looking as if he seriously considered snarling at the local masters. That was quite new. The little Salamander had never shown that much displeasure before.

 

Before he could decide what to do about the situation, Wellington and Pakenham came ambling over, the two brothers in law apparently deep in discussion as they walked.

 

"Are you about done here, Colonel?" Wellington asked curtly as they reached him. "We have an army to get back to."

 

"Certainly, Milord," Colborne replied with a hint of a smile. He hadn't intended to get into a dispute with the local Masters, but he wasn't quite sure that he could have avoided it for much longer. He turned towards them. "Sir, Ladies," he said, "I fear I must leave you – duty calls. I will gladly be available to you whenever we get another opportunity to talk."

 

They regarded him with varying degrees of understanding.

 

His smile widened as he nodded at them, the perfect image of sincerity. "I do hope that we will get the opportunity." With that, he turned to fall into step behind the other two officers, following them to where the horses were kept. As he walked, he could feel Alexander coiling up around his arm under this jacket, reassuringly rubbing his muzzle against his human friend's shoulder.

 

***

 

 

 

Colborne felt a bit out of place.

 

Actually, that was something of an understatement. He probably hadn't felt this out of place once since he had joined the army.

 

If he'd thought he could get away with it, he would have declined this specific invitation.

 

However, the fact was that you did not simply tell the Field Marshal "no" when he invited you to join his hunt.

 

Hunting was a sport much practiced by the officers while they were cantoned here for the winter. As Harry had informed him, the hunting wasn't that bad in the area. It kept them busy and with some semblance of something sensible to do. In fact, Smith was quite the avid hunter and supplied his host family with all kinds of meat that could be procured by shooting in the area of the village.

 

Colborne had done some shooting with his pistol since he had returned to active duty, and reassured himself that his shooting was not much worse than average left-handed. Duelling pistols weren't fit to use for hunting, though.

 

In addition to the pistol worn habitually in his belt, Colborne had a hunting rifle slung over his saddle behind him today. Smith had been kind enough to lend it to him. It was his second-best at most, and probably didn't shoot very straight – which wasn't any kind of problem because it wouldn't be seeing any use that day.

 

A rifle required two good arms to use. Colborne would have had the choice between holding it steady, unable to reach the trigger, or pulling the trigger while risking shooting his own horse. He opted to do neither and simply join the hunting party for the ride.

 

Harry and Juana were racing down the hill at the centre of what looked like a full pack of hounds, clearly enjoying themselves. Colborne might have thought about joining them, but the way they were taking their horses right over any obstacles they encountered instead of around rather discouraged him from that. He had seen Harry take a tumble to the ground earlier when his horse had come down badly.

 

Luckily, neither man nor horse had taken any damage, but Colborne had no intention of being the next one to kiss the ground.

 

Most of the other men in attendance did not seem to have any such qualms. At least two others had already had to remount, and Wellington himself had had a close call. The Field Marshal hadn't seemed upset about it in the least, simply pushing himself back upright into the saddle from where he had ended up half-lying across his horse's neck, laughing as he sorted his reins and adjusted his rifle.

 

Speaking of Wellington, where had the man gotten to?

 

He hadn't seen the supreme commander of their troops since that Friday several weeks ago. There had been no reason to. In fact, he hadn't expected to see or hear anything of the man before they moved the army again, unless he required his company for another Friday meeting with the local masters. Jean had informed him that those took place once a month – but also that guests were usually only invited to one of them.

 

Before he could pursue that thought any further, he heard a rider approach him from behind.

 

As he turned, he noted with slight surprise that the very man he had been thinking about was galloping up to him, bringing his horse to a precise halt next to Colborne's own.

 

"Well, Colborne?" Wellington asked without preamble. "Not enjoying the hunt?"

 

"I fear I'm no kind of hunter anymore, Sir," Colborne said neutrally. It was certainly true, though he hadn't been much of a hunter before that either. Hunting was not a pastime he had ever been able to afford to take the leisure for. Obviously, he had shot some meat for the cook pot now and then on campaign, but the kind of organised or semi-organised hunt that Harry enjoyed was nothing he had ever engaged in even with two fully functional arms.

 

Wellington gave him a vague gesture, indicating that it didn't matter. "Now," he continued, his tone neutral. "There's something I needed to inform you of."

 

"Sir?" Though he had racked his brain, he had been unable to come up with a reason for why Wellington would want to have him at this hunt. The announcement didn't help him there either. If the Field Marshal needed to talk to him, he could have just sent word for Colborne to present himself at headquarters.

 

"I assume you still remember that you were only put in _temporary_ command of the brigade," Wellington said.

 

"Yes, Sir." He hadn't forgotten it. In fact, he had expected to be relieved much earlier than this.

 

"I will be swapping your rifles," Wellington announced. "Barnard will come in with his men."

 

Colborne tried to not let his sudden alarm show on his face. It wasn't the thought of losing his position that caused it. But what could the Field Marshal possibly be thinking, putting a man who harboured as much resentment towards Masters in charge of the, as Napier had called it, magical regiment?

 

"Barnard is recovered from his wound, and he needs to have a command," Wellington said.

 

It was spoken neutrally, but to Colborne it sounded almost like an apology. In fact, it sounded more like an apology than anything he had ever heard from the man's lips before. He merely nodded.

 

"He will be in charge of the brigade in any matter that is strictly military. You will, of course, go back to commanding your regiment. However," he gave Colborne an intense look that almost made the younger man squirm in his saddle, "I am informed that you are very well aware of Barnard's … limitations, magically speaking."

 

Colborne gave another nod. There was no point in trying to deny it. Barnard's little shouting fit upon learning of Colborne's new talent had probably long gotten around.

 

"I will not waste a number of entirely good Masters because the brigadier doesn't know what to do with them – or isn't willing to do it unless directly ordered, and frankly, magic is a subject best left out of official military orders."

 

"I can see that," Colborne said. As far as he knew, there was no official mention of magic anywhere at all. It seemed logical, as well. Who would risk someone without magic finding a written account of it? He felt uncomfortable enough about leaving his instruction book unattended at times.

 

Wellington gave a half-snort that suggested that he doubted the statement. "Therefore, you will remain in command where magical matters are concerned."

 

Colborne felt his face reflect his surprise before he could do anything about it. "Sir?" he asked. "What will Colonel Barnard say about that?"

 

"I have no intention of informing him," Wellington snapped, as if Colborne had just asked a particularly stupid and obvious question. "He has made it more than clear that he desires not to be bothered with magical things. We shall honour that wish."

 

He probably should have felt better about the entire thing than he did.

 

In fact, a growing sense of dread was washing over him, causing Alexander to administer a quick rub of his muzzle against the side of Colborne's throat. There were reasons why there was _one_ person in charge of a brigade. Splitting up responsibilities, especially if one of the men involved wasn't aware of the situation…

 

What might happen if Barnard found out about the arrangement through other channels was something Colborne didn't want to dwell on.

 

"Don't look like I just sent you into enemy territory unarmed," Wellington said, a scornful edge to his voice. "How often did you have to give any magical commands before?"

 

The answer to that was 'never'. In battle, the Masters and Mages each proceeded as they saw fit, using what they had. Outside, there was no reason to direct the men's magic in any manner. Most of the time, you wouldn't have known that there was magic in the camp, even if you knew of it. Oh, it was used all over the place, to dry socks and to keep a fire steady, but the shields they used at night were the only thing where the magic was openly evident.

 

"See?" his commander continued. "Most likely, the war will be over before you have to give another one. Still, I want to know that there is someone responsible for making sure the magic is organised if it does become necessary. Understood?"

 

"Understood," Colborne confirmed. "I'll inform Napier that I'm taking back the 52nd, and clear my quarters for the Colonel."

 

"What, and sadden your wonderful hostesses?" The corner of Wellington's mouth twitched. "They would never forgive me. We shall find another place for the Colonel."

 

Colborne almost choked. There weren't a great many reasons why Wellington might be concerned about what his hostesses were thinking. It was, of course, possible that the man was joking.

 

Considering who he was talking to, however, it was equally possible that he had chosen some unobserved moment or another to help out one – or possibly even both – of the sisters with their little problem of not having a suitable man around.

 

He forced his thoughts away from that. What the Field Marshal did with his spare time was none of his business after all. He just hoped that he kept on doing whatever it was where Colborne neither saw nor heard it.

 

"I shall inquire about a suitable accommodation then," Colborne offered, receiving a nod in return. "About the magic … will _I_ be taking my commands from anyone particular?"

 

"Apply your own judgement," Wellington said. "Most likely if you ever need to use your position, it'll be in battle anyway. Outside of it, you answer to me."

 

"Yes, Sir." Now that was something new. Was it possible that Wellington wasn't telling the entire truth after all? Could there be more behind the arrangement?

 

He wasn't going to find out about that by racking his brain, and he was reasonably sure that Wellington wasn't going to volunteer any information even if asked, so he forced his thoughts away from the matter and into simply accepting things as they were – for the time being.

 

"Well, Colborne," Wellington interrupted his thoughts, his posture and expression suddenly changing. "We may be the two most powerful Masters in the army, but I am riding by far the better horse. Challenging you to a race I know I would win easily is hardly going to be entertaining. I might challenge you to a proper friendly mages' duel, but you might end up winning that. You Water Masters are notorious for winning duels. Since I have no desire to lose, let's simply re-join the party, shall we?"

 

"Certainly, Sir," Colborne replied. "And gladly so. _Water Masters_ in general may be good duellers, but surely not me. I don't have the first ideas how duels even work."

 

"What?" The older man seemed surprised. "What's Smith been teaching you all this time? Really, you'd think a young hothead like him would know all there is to about duelling."

 

"If he does, he hasn't seen fit to pass on his knowledge yet," Colborne said. "He probably doesn't think I'm sufficiently advanced yet. I may have the power…" There was no denying that, unfortunately. "But I am still lacking the proper skill."

 

Wellington snorted. "You had skill enough up in that cave. Well, never mind. I'm of a mind to shoot some game today after all, so I'll be off. You make sure Smith doesn’t break his neck with his antics." With that, he wheeled his horse and galloped off.

 

"I'll try," Colborne said into the silence he left behind. Looking over to where Harry was racing at breakneck speed, presently jumping his horse over a hedge so high the animal's legs brushed the branches, he hoped that the day would, indeed, end without any broken bones.

 


	38. Chapter 38

"… everyone will understand if you don't want to continue in your current position under those circumstances." Colborne's eyes rested on Harry, whose face showed an uncharacteristic frown.

The Smiths, Colborne and Napier had come together in the Colonel's room, to hear their commanding officer give them a run-down of what he had been informed of.

Napier and Juana had settled on either end of Colborne's narrow bed, while Harry had unceremoniously let himself drop on the floor and made himself comfortable there, his back leaning against the bed and announced that having the three of them all sit on its edge in one row made him think of a group of unruly school children being chastised.

That announcement had brought a brief smile to Colborne who, rather than taking a chair himself, was perching on the edge of the table.

"What makes 'everyone' think I'd do that?" Harry asked after another moment. "Of course I'll stay if he'll have me."

"I hear he had something to do with your remaining at your current rank," Napier said slowly, tapping the insignia on Harry's jacket with his remaining hand.

The younger man twisted around to look up at their companion. "How do _you_ know of that?" he wanted to know. "You weren't even here! For all I know, you were busy getting married when that happened."

"People talk," Napier returned.

"People can stop talking," Harry muttered. "Really – it's been … how long? Plenty long enough to forget it anyway. It's over and done with. I don't hold a grudge."

Colborne gave his one-shouldered shrug and a lopsided smile. "Harry Smith, ever the noble soul ready to forgive and forget. I wish we had more like you."

Later he could have sworn that he had seen Harry blush for a second there. A trick of the light, most likely.

"If people talk that way, that's all the more reason for us to stay right where we are," Juana threw in. "They'll see there aren't any hard feelings on our side."

"Well, he should treat you properly well," Napier said, still looking down at Harry. "I also hear you saved his life after his most recent wound."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. If I hadn't done it, someone else would have. Any fire master with decent control could have done that, and fire masters abound in our section of the army. Water masters, now that is something you have to go out of your way to find."

"Especially the kind that consort with Phoenixes and deal with Dragons," Juana added.

Colborne felt the heat in his face and knew that if the others saw him blush it was not due to the light at all.

"You're not supposed to make a superior officer change colour like that, Harry," Napier scolded playfully.

Juana giggled as Harry shrugged and tried to put on the most innocent expression he was capable of. "You blush very prettily, though, Colonel," she assured their host, causing Harry to favour her with a mock glare.

"Your husband is right here," he complained.

"So he is." Juana slipped her feet out of her shoes and pulled her legs up on the bed to get more comfortable. "But _you_ don't usually blush at all, much less prettily."

"Hey, I am--!"

Whatever Harry had been going to say was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

With two quick steps, Colborne was there, opening it to see who was waiting to talk to him. Since Wellington's statement the day before, hearing a stranger's footsteps in the house had made him somewhat wary. He wondered if he would ever go back to not thinking much of them, rather than picturing a man with greying red hair and an impressive nose sneaking in not-so-secretly to dance with one of his hostesses – one way or another.

He was relieved to notice that the only one outside this time was a local boy, looking up Colborne's considerable height with an expression of awe.

"I have something for Colonel Colborne," the boy announced, stumbling somewhat over the unfamiliar sound of the foreign rank and name.

"That'd be me."

The boy's hand shot out immediately, clutching a folded piece of paper. "I'm to deliver this," he said, then, as an afterthought, added: "Sir."

Colborne took the paper with a nod of thanks. "Do you need to wait for my reply?" he asked.

The young messenger shook his head. "Just deliver, Sir."

"A job well done then," Colborne observed.

The boy didn't move from where he was standing, his eyes still fixed on the man before him – but it wasn't the fascinated stare taking in the polished buttons on his bright red uniform that he was used to receiving from at least one person wherever he went.

The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement as he dug into his pocket for a coin to pay the child with. He felt Alexander's fiery nose push a round piece of metal against his fingers. Taking it, he held up his hand, quickly glancing at what he held.

Well, Alexander certainly was more generous than he would have been. Nevertheless, he held the coin out to the boy.

A wide grin lit up his face as he grabbed the money and made a dash out the front door immediately, as if expecting the Colonel to demand his payment back any second.

Still smiling, Colborne closed the door again and turned, shaking out the paper in the same movement.

"If he wasn't paid by the sender, he was stupid and deserved to go home without money," Harry said as Colborne turned around. "And if he was, he just got paid twice."

"Let him be paid twice," the older man answered. He frowned at the missive. "Let him be happy to have gotten an extra coin out of his delivery."

About to answer, Harry noticed Colborne's look. "Bad news, Colonel?"

"No. Scrawled letter." He squinted at the lines as if he could make them grow clearer that way. "I approve of a distinctive handwriting, but a bit more legibility wouldn't hurt this one."

Napier winced at the announcement, remembering that his own handwriting could probably use some improvement – then again, he had the good excuse of having to write with his left hand. "Who's it from, Jack?"

"It doesn't say," Colborne said with a glance at the bottom end of the hastily written note. "But he's inviting me to meet him in civilian clothes in a stipulated location at sunrise tomorrow."

Harry unfolded his body from the floor and came over. "Can I see?"

Without letting go of the paper, Colborne turned the letter around so the younger officer could take a look at it.

"It doesn't say," Harry repeated in a mocking tone. "You know that scrawl as well as I do, Colborne! It's quite unique."

"What scrawl?" Napier was on his feet as well now, coming over to take a look of his own.

Colborne held the paper up for him briefly, then folded it and stuck it in his pocket before either of the others could make out the particulars. "I do know whose hand the scrawl belongs to," he admitted. "And so I think I will show up as desired."

*

The next morning saw Colborne leave the village at a brisk trot, obediently dressed in a plain shirt and waistcoat under a tan jacket that was much more sturdy than it was fashionable. For breeches he had had to resort to the same he currently wore with his uniform.

Another man was already waiting for him when he reached the appointed spot, near the top of a hill, as usual in white trousers and a blue frock-coat. Only his shirt was out of the ordinary, as the Colonel saw upon his approach: Plain, sensible linen instead of the usual shiny silk. Wellington had looped his horse's reins around a tree branch and was leaning against the trunk casually.

Colborne stopped his horse next to him and dismounted.

His "Good morning, Sir" was met with a wave of Wellington's hand.

"We'll see about the 'good'," he said. "Tie up your horse. We need to talk."

Colborne did as he was told, making sure that the animal could eat of the sparse, dry grass if he liked, but would not find it easy to pull loose and wander off.

By the time he turned around, Wellington had shrugged out of his coat and carefully folded it over a branch, out of reach of the horses.

"Milord?" Colborne couldn't quite banish the surprise from his voice.

Wellington's mouth twitched. "Colborne," he said. "We're not speaking from peer to commoner here, nor from Field Marshal to Lieutenant Colonel. You remember, of course, what I said to you about our magic?"

Colborne nodded once, curtly. "You said we're among the strongest Masters in the army, Sir."

"Don't try to be humble, Colborne," Wellington snapped. "It doesn't suit a Master of your power. I said we may be the two most powerful Masters in the army, and I stand by that. As such, in matters strictly magical, you may consider us equals, and address me as such."

"Sir?" Colborne asked, uncertain of what his commander was aiming at.

Wellington sighed. "Just call me Arthur while we're dealing with magic only."

"As you say." He had no intention to actually do so, but it seemed unwise to object. "That was not the only thing you wanted to talk to me about, though, was it?"

"Duels, John," Wellington answered, as if that was all that needed saying.

The response was almost a reflex. "Jack."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No one calls me John. It's always Colborne, or Jack."

"Duels," Wellington repeated without even acknowledging that he had heard. "You are the second-most powerful Master in the army and according to your own statement, you have no idea how to duel. Sooner or later, someone is going to challenge you. Those Fire boys can be hotheads, on both sides of the war, and Air doesn't always think before acting either."

Colborne squinted slightly at his commander and fellow Master. "Are you afraid you might lose my services to death by duelling?" he asked slowly. He wouldn't have thought so, but the way Wellington kept pointing out his magical strength ...

The other man laughed. "Certainly not," he snapped a moment later. "You'd have to be caught drunk or asleep for that. Or drunk and asleep."

Before Colborne could ensure him that he intended to do neither of those things, Wellington continued: "I do not want it said that we are not training our Masters properly because you have fumbled your way through your first duel without the least idea of what you're doing."

With a slight inclination of his head, Colborne indicated that he understood. He understood more than the words said, as well. Wellington probably couldn't have cared less about Colborne's personal impression, or possibly even the impression he made of the kind of training the English masters received. What he was trying to avoid was a display of weakness. "I thought Fire could not teach Water? Would the same not apply to Ice?"

"Harry Smith seems to be doing a good enough job teaching you, apart from the actually relevant things," Wellington returned. "In times of war, you take what you can get. I can send for Ned if you insist, but I can assure you that an Air Master's teaching is not going to be to your liking – nor," a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Wellington's mouth, "is my brother in law any kind of dueller to speak of. Beating him would mean nothing."

"I'll take what I can get then," Colborne decided. The duelling lessons Wellington was obviously planning for him, but also more: an opportunity to see his commanding officer wield the magic he had heard about but never seen in use, maybe catch a glimpse of his Elementals, and get a better idea of whether they were, in fact, matched in strength, though certainly not in experience.

He harboured no illusions that Wellington wasn't entirely aware of that as well. Colborne quickly shrugged out of his jacket. If his teacher was going to do this in shirtsleeves, then so, probably, should he. Just as he put aside his garment, he remembered that just like his own attitude towards rain had changed, Wellington probably did not feel the cold as he did. Too late to change anything without looking immensely stupid now, though. "Where do we start?"

"A circle." Wellington was already walking away from him, headed for the centre of an area of roughly level ground.

Colborne shifted his sight to bring the magic into focus and hoped that he was ready for whatever was ahead.

As he followed his commander, Alexander, who had been listening to their exchange silently so far, only a rare tightening of his tail on Colborne's arm suggesting that he did not consider duelling a suitable pastime, decided that this was as close to a duel as he would get. Vanishing from his human friend's shoulder, he dug into the discarded jacket to keep it warm for Colborne's return.

Colborne didn't have any time or attention to spare for the Salamander.

Never a man of many words, Wellington turned the moment he had reached his destination and dropped whatever shield it was that he wore to make him look entirely ordinary. His magic blazed, and Colborne blinked several times before remembering to dampen his magical sight instead. Half-surprised that the sudden burst of brightness had not left spots in his sight – magical or otherwise –, he almost missed the first shield that went up, marking out a perfect circle around them.

Wellington's magic was almost the same light blue-grey as his eyes. The shield was built no differently from the way Harry and Juana made theirs. It certainly felt different when Colborne, almost out of reflex, extended his own to layer it on top of the first, though.

The shields didn't touch – they never did – but he could feel the biting cold through the magic that connected him to that shield even so. Larger than most that Colborne had attempted so far, Wellington's shield spanned a circular area of ground roughly fifty paces across.

His shield would be fine once he let go of it, but the freezing sensation against his magic took a toll on his focus.

The shield dissipated before it could settle in place.

Colborne frowned. Water froze when it got too cold. Maybe that was why the combination was particularly unpleasant. What he needed was a separating layer that could deal with the magical cold that radiated out from Wellington's shield better.

Snatching up threads of Air, he inflated a thin shield of that element, hoping as he did so that his weaker hold on Air and the size of the shield together would not thwart him.

He managed, barely, and hoped that it wasn't too evident where his limits with Air lay.

The Water shield came up faster the second time, both because the size he needed was still fresh in his mind and because of his determination to not give his new teacher the opportunity to laugh at his attempts – and laugh he would, given a chance.

Another shield settled on top of the three layers the moment the Water one snapped into place. Colborne withdrew just in time not to get more than a short gust of cold wind against his magic. He took another moment to study the result.

The first layers, both Wellington's and his, had been larger versions of their normal protections. The last one was the kind that would keep unwelcome visitors out.

"Do we want the invisibility shield there?" Colborne asked.

Wellington shook his head briefly. "Not today," he said. "No one comes this way anyway. You stand there." He pointed at a spot about halfway between the shield and the centre where they were standing now. "You lose when you leave the circle, are unable to use your magic or give up. No elementals in the circle."

With that, he turned, striding towards a spot opposite the one he had indicated to Colborne, who surreptitiously checked to make sure that no one – especially not Sylphie or the Phoenixes – had followed him. He needed neither the distraction of a chattering Sylph, nor the risk of his protectors accidentally frying the Commander in Chief because they thought he was under attack.

It was just as well that Wellington couldn't read thoughts. The Field Marshal would probably have pointed out that he was just as likely to freeze the Phoenixes and let them shatter on the ground.

Colborne reached his designated location and turned on his heel, just in time to see the other man do the same.

Now what?

He stood, waiting. They didn't have seconds. Who was going to announce whose turn it was? Were they going to fire magic at each other like bullets? How were they—

He felt the cold creeping up through his boots. A crackle sounded as he shifted his stance, and he glanced down. The ground was soaked from the rain – whether still or again was impossible to say. Water glistening in the impressions his feet had left had solidified.

Shifting again before his boots could freeze to the ground, Colborne pulled up a shield around him to block the inflow of Ice magic. If it froze the water around him, it might as well freeze the magic inside and render him unable to do anything with it sooner than expected.

At the last moment, he remembered to put in a layer of air, more for his own comfort than out of magical necessity.

The ice inside his shield didn't melt – the air wasn't quite warm enough for that –, but neither did it solidify any further. He could see the difference, marking out the outlines of his protection even for those who could not see the magic.

Had that been the first attack, or was it merely an attempt to cut him off from as much of the water in the ground as possible?

He had hardly completed the thought when a flash of grey magic hurtled towards him.

His body's instincts took over, and he threw himself out of harm's way, though even as he did so, he wondered if his shields would have stopped it, had he actually remained standing and focused on them.

As he scrambled back to his feet, a hail of fine, needle-sharp shards of ice came down at him.

Colborne whipped up a shield to deflect them. This was going to be an interesting morning.

The shower stopped.

He was breathing harder than he thought he should, considering that he hadn't really done anything yet. Standing motionless, he waited to see what was going to come next.

He almost missed it.

After the way things had started, Colborne had expected a more spectacular attack than a thin tendril of pure magic trying to snake its way into his shield. He very nearly missed it, as it merged nearly perfectly with his shields, worming its way in.

Out of reflex more than actual deliberation, he slammed down one of the water blades that had once freed Alexander from John Skerrett's leash.

The greater part of the tendril whipped back. The small cut-off tip dissipated into nothingness.

He couldn't keep on limiting himself to defence. In a duel, he was surely expected to attack as well.

Wellington still stood where he had been, his arms loosely crossed in front of his chest, entirely at ease in the cold wind. He could have sworn there was a rather self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Colborne directed his attention lower, drawing moisture from the ground around him and sending it to pool at the other Master's feet. Ice melted if enough water was poured on it. Mud up to his knees at least should go some way towards wiping away that grin. Apart from that, Colborne was reasonably certain that freezing the ground around yourself while you were literally stuck in it was not going to be a good idea.

It only took a few moments for Wellington to catch on. As far as Colborne could tell from the distance, the grin did not, in fact, disappear, though the man did move, almost stumbling backwards until he was on more secure ground again.

Colborne sent his water after him.

Two more steps, and Wellington solved his dilemma by producing what appeared to be a sheet of ice on top of the mud in front of him and stepping onto it with a decisive step that should have cracked the ice, had it not been magical in nature.

With the Water blade still fresh in his mind, Colborne called it up again, reshaping it slightly to give it a wider, dull edge, and turning it before swinging and throwing it at his opponent.

He felt the impact on Wellington's shield reverberate through his body as an almost physical sensation. Next time, he told himself, let go before it hits.

Following a sudden idea, he let the blade dissolve but held on to the magic instead of allowing it to dissipate. Like sticky liquid – or half-frozen water – it clung to the shield, obscuring the vision of the man inside.

A few quick steps brought Colborne out of reach of the javelin that hit close to where he had stood.

He tried shaping one of his own for good measure and throwing it where the first one had come from, but with limited success – it didn't even make it to impact before being bent and reshaped, hurtling back towards him as if grabbed by an invisible first, compressed into a cannon ball and launched.

Colborne ducked instead of trying to catch it. The last of his magic was currently dripping into the soggy ground at Wellington's feet.

Pushing the other out of the circle would mean victory. Colborne didn't expect to end his first duel victorious, but that wouldn't keep him from trying his best.

His magic was happy enough to be used like water, and a suggestion on his part was enough to let it surge forward as a wave, flooding the circle and aiming to wash Wellington from his feet and outside of the markings.

For a moment, the other man tried to stand firm and resist, then he shifted his stance, balancing on a sheet of magic turned impossibly solid again, floating on Colborne's flood.

Real water would still have flushed him away, carrying him and his raft with it wherever it went. This, however, was magic, and if Wellington was able to believe in his being able to stay in place more strongly than in Colborne's being able to take him away, there was the chance that he would stay exactly where he was.

The wave ceased. Colborne had no wish to deplete himself needlessly.

Suddenly losing the support of another's magic below it, Wellington's raft crashed to the ground - alone, since its rider had jumped off of it and towards his opponent the moment the ground before him had cleared.

Wellington came down in a ready stance, a blade of magic in his hand.

Colborne did not spare a fraction of a second to wonder if he had called it up slowly on purpose as he replicated the process as well as he could.

He met the first stroke just in time. His blade wobbled, trying to bend. He stumbled a step backwards.

Fencing had never been part of his training, his sword only used to guide his men in battle. He hadn't thought that he would ever find himself in a fencing match – he hadn't thought a magical duel would get this physical either.

He parried another two strokes, awkwardly. He tried to adjust the hilt of his blade, or what passed for it. The thing he had called up was modelled after his physical sword, and lay awkwardly in his left hand because the grip was the wrong way around for it.

He needed to get some distance between them, get enough of a break to pull up some magical defence that would push his opponent away from him or counter that blade of ice…

Jumping back as far as he could, he realised his mistake as he felt a ripple of magic around him.

He froze, just outside of the duelling circle.

On the other side of the barrier, Wellington smiled as he let his weapon dissipate and stepped out after him.

"Well fought, for a first attempt," he said. "You will improve with practice, of course."

Colborne grimaced. The older man didn't even sound out of breath. It gave him some little satisfaction, though, to see that his hair was stuck to his scalp and the once-white trousers were muddy to the knees. Fastidious as Wellington was about his appearance, he would hardly enjoy that.

"Of course," Colborne said once he was sure he could match the Ice Master's tone. "I am at your disposal whenever the time suits."

Wellington laughed. "Right now suits just fine," he said, clapping a hand on Colborne's good shoulder and steering him around the perimeter of the circle. "Let's go over the first one before we start on the second, though. What was the mistake that cost you the duel?"


	39. Chapter 39

Once, Barnard's arrival to take over the brigade would have been highly welcome to Colborne.

It wasn't that he minded losing his command – he had never forgotten that it was a temporary position only, and he had been quite surprised that it had lasted as long as it did.

It also wasn't that Barnard was openly hostile to him. No words had been exchanged about the matter of Colborne not vacating his quarters, even though he had been certain that he would hear about that from his new commander. He wouldn't have faulted him, had he considered it special treatment among Masters.

In fact, they had exchanged hardly any words beyond what had been necessary to transfer command. Barnard's behaviour towards him was perfectly accurate, but cool and as if to a stranger.

Colborne, too well aware that Wellington's special orders would only serve to confirm Barnard's opinion of the magically gifted preferring each other over those without magic, no matter how practical they were been, made no attempt to approach the other man beyond what was absolutely required to run the regiment.

Harry, not burdened by any such considerations, happily retained his position as brigade major, initially dividing his time between Barnard's home, Colborne's and his own. Even he couldn't quite ignore that his welcome with the new brigadier was not what it had once been, though. While Juana pointed out that he deserved somewhat more gratitude for helping to save the man's life, Harry merely shrugged, and increased his time spent with Colborne, George and the others.

In the second half of February, the rains had all but stopped, and the ground had had enough time to dry to enable them to move the army.

Orders had come, and preparations had been made.

The last morning of their stay in the little Basque village, Colborne started his day with the now-familiar routine of being beaten in a duel. He would have liked to end the winter with a victory, but while those occurred, they were still few and far between. He had not asked Wellington where he had learned to duel, and the other man had not volunteered the information, but it was clear that he was learning from a master in more than one sense.

He hoped that he had given his teacher some satisfaction as a pupil, and not left him with the impression of having wasted his time.

Instead of returning home, Colborne pointed his horse at the Lamiak bridge that morning. He had ridden out a few times during their stay to talk to the local elementals and learn what he could from them. He did not want to disappear on them without saying goodbye.

One practical side effect of his duelling practice was that he had learned how to draw the water from any mud in his clothes quickly and completely, so that he could remove the dark stains simply by brushing out his clothes. He slid down the slope to the river, now much less rapid than the first time he had seen it, without worrying about the scolding Bob, Juana or his servant might give him for playing in the dirt.

His little local friends were already waiting for him.

Colborne settled on the piece of rock that he had come to consider "his". One of the duck-footed elementals climbed up and sat leaning against his thigh almost immediately.

"It's farewell for us today, my dear," he told her. "We are leaving tomorrow."

The elemental's face fell. _Why?_ she asked after a few seconds, her voice sounding subdued. _Did we do something wrong?_

That took Colborne aback. Why would she think any such thing? He briefly wondered if they had been up to any kind of mischief that they thought he had found out about.

Since no one had complained to him and he had not noticed anything himself, he decided to assume that they simply had either forgotten or decided to ignore his earlier announcement that he might have to leave on short notice. "No," he tried to reassure them. "We're just moving. I have a master, too, remember? My master says we move tomorrow."

 _I would move tomorrow if I had a Master_ , the Lamia declared.

Colborne looked down at her. "I don't think so, my dear," he said. "You have a beautiful river here, that's clean and well taken care of. Water isn't this nice everywhere, and sometimes it gets downright dirty. You will be much happier staying here than moving about with a Master."

There was some frantic nodding and splashing of consent in the water.

The Lamia by his side shook her head firmly. _If I had a Master, I would move tomorrow._

"Be glad that you don't," Colborne said with a thin smile. "You can stay here with your friends."

_I'd like to have a Master who shows me things._

Colborne wondered if he should tell her that even if he wanted to, he had no idea of how to bind any elemental to himself. The only way he knew of to do that in a way that was acceptable all around was having the elemental simply decide to attach him- or herself to him like his undines and Sylphia had. The phoenixes and Bob were a slightly different matter if he went by the way their contact felt to him, but he had no idea of how to create that bond, and in what situations it was even considered proper to do so.

More questions that Harry or Juana would have to answer whenever he had a chance to ask them in private.

"See, I will be travelling and fighting, and doing work," he tried. "You can go back to playing with your friends and enjoying the water. Doesn't that sound nicer?"

 _No._ She had hesitated for a bit, though, as if actually thinking his words through. 

Colborne looked around, trying to think of anything else to say that would convince her. He didn't want to leave a sad elemental behind. Sadness might turn into resentment, and he knew what kind of mischief those little creatures got up to when they resented someone. They wouldn't take it out on him, of course, but they might pick someone unable to defend himself, and make his life miserable for a few weeks.

His eyes found Isabel, lounging on another rock like a queen, evidently much amused at his discussion. Something was not quite right about her expression, though. Given the earlier squabbles between the Lamiak and his undines, which had never subsided entirely, he would have expected her to rejoice in his refusal to officially acknowledge what the other elemental was hinting at.

"Anything you'd like to share with us, Isabel?" he asked with mild curiosity.

For a moment, she looked as if she might decline. Then she shook out her hair, spraying droplets around here even though it had looked entirely dry just a moment before. _Oh, just let her come along, Master_ , she suggested just before he could prompt her further. _One more will hardly make a difference._

The man raised his eyebrows at her. "I thought you didn't like the local elementals much."

She gave him a fluid shrug. _We may have gotten used to them._ The glint in her eye suggested that she had more to add that she was prudently refraining from saying out loud. Colborne waited, saying, nothing. Like Harry, the elementals usually had less patience for silence than he did.

_She will have to accept that since we have been with you for longer, we are of higher rank, of course._

"Since when do elementals care about rank?" Colborne asked. He didn't know that they didn't, not really – but he had never heard of it or noticed it before, other than with the dragon. And that, he was quite sure everyone agreed, was a notable exception.

Straightening, as if about to salute him, she looked back in the general direction of the camp. _Everyone has ranks_ , she informed him.

"Everyone?" he asked. "No one in the village has."

_Everyone who belongs to you._

He considered that. "Do Harry's salamanders care about rank?" he eventually asked.

She made a rude noise. _Salamanders are stupid_ , she declared, drawing a hiss from Alexander, who was safely snuggled into Colborne's collar.

"Isabel," Colborne cautioned.

 _The Fire Master's salamanders are stupid_ , she corrected. _And Master Harry doesn’t talk much to them anyway._

Colborne was reasonably sure that none of his talking to the Elementals had ever included any suggestions of rank. He couldn't deny, though, that his Elementals were showing somewhat more interest in what was going on in camp than the average other Elemental that he had seen.

"I have no intention of turning you into a small private army," he declared. "We do not need rank among ourselves."

 _Fine_ , Isabel said, with a tone so light and a smile so bright that Colborne knew there was more to come. _But we've been with you longer, so we're like the village elders and newcomers should listen to what we say._

He sighed. Isabel – like her friends – was hard to deter once she had latched on to an idea. If one approach wouldn't work, she would simply try another one, and like the water she was born of she would eventually find a way to prevail and break through. He could put an end to it, of course, but he suspected that that was wasting energy and magic on something that did not truly require it. Would any other master even bother to waste a thought about elemental power dynamics?

They might, if it affected their work with their own elementals, he thought. Would this?

Thinking back, he realised that he might not have been as innocent of planting the idea of rank in his Elementals' heads as he had thought just a moment ago. He _had_ put those three undines in charge of keeping the others in line back when he had been just a fledgling master with little control and less knowledge – not that he had a great deal of the latter, or as much of the former as he would have liked now.

He turned his attention back to the Lamia.

"I don't think she'll be swayed from that," he announced. "Now, if you really want to come along and take your orders from her…"

 _And Eleanor, and Sally_ , Isabel named the other two Undines that had been following Colborne from the beginning.

"And Eleanor, and Sally," Colborne repeated with a sigh. "Then you are welcome to come, but I still suspect you will find it much more enjoyable if you stay home."

The Lamia looked thoughtful for a moment so short that Colborne almost missed it.

 _I will come,_ she declared. _Where are we going?_

"North and East," Colborne said, assuming that town names would mean nothing to the Elementals. Then, not certain if directions other than up- and downstream did, he pointed. "That way."

The Lamina's expression turned excited. _We get Sylphs blown down from there sometimes,_ she declared, her voice rising in Colborne's mind. _They tell many things, and none of them make sense._

That, he had to admit, was a pretty good description of most kinds of Sylph chatter. He still hadn't found a way to get them to produce reliable information.

_Now I will see for myself!_

If anything had been needed to reconcile her to the fact that she would be reporting to Isabel and her sisters, that seemed to have done it. With an inward sign, Colborne reconciled himself to the fact that he had just acquired another elemental.

 _What is her name, Master?_ Isabel asked just as he was getting to his feet.

"Aemelia", he said. He probably should have chosen a Basque name for her, but that would have required more thought. Besides, his very French Brownie was named Bob and didn't seem to mind either.

With a happy splash, the newly named Lamia dove back into the river, presumably to take her leave of her friends there.

Colborne was still shaking his head over the general conduct of his elementals as he climbed the slope back up to the bridge - not before leaving the other Lamiak that were going to be left behind a generous parting gift of magic. He wasn't so preoccupied with his thoughts, however, that he didn't notice Alexander suddenly diving deeper into his jacket as he reached the upper edge.

"What is it?" he asked, though he got no response other than a tightening of the warm tail that was curled around his ribs now.

There was nothing in sight that he could identify as dangerous or out of the ordinary, neither to his regular, nor to his magical sight. No matter what had startled the Salamander, being found by it on a steep downward slope was probably not the best situation. He took a few steps away from the edge, turning and scanning the area in more detail.

The bridge was shining with Water magic, as it always did. The swirls of local magic in and on the land were where they always were, a background pattern he hardly saw anymore when he didn't deliberately look for it.

There was nothing else that he could see.

On a non-magical level, the only disturbance of the peace around this section of the river right now seemed to be the one caused by his ascent. He could hear the local wildlife take up its daily tasks again as he stood frozen and listened.

Nothing.

Still keeping a careful eye on his surroundings, he returned to where he had tied up his horse.

The animal appeared entirely undisturbed and was contentedly munching on what grass it could find.

Colborne took the reins in his left hand and fished for his stirrup with the tip of his boot. Just as he turned to swing his right leg over the horse's back, he thought he saw a movement in the magic back at the bridge. He looked back that way, but whatever it was had disappeared again.

For a moment, he entertained the thought of turning back and investigating.

The position of the sun was what decided him against it. He needed to return back home, and soon. There was work to be done before they could leave, and they were scheduled to march the next morning.

He stretched his magical awareness out towards the river one last time. He felt the water, the magic in it, the bridge, the Elementals gathered there, but nothing malevolent or displaced.

Whatever that hint of magic had been, it would have to wait for someone else to investigate it.

 

*

 

Alexander came out again when they reached the fork where the road leading over the bridge merged with the one leading towards the village. Colborne kept his horse at a brisk trot, He was going to miss the village and the people in it when they moved on. As winter quarters went, this had been an extraordinary one, though he had to admit that that mostly had to do with the magic. The _akelarre_ with its circle of Masters, the duelling lessons with Wellington, Jean's family with magic all over the place were things that he would certainly think back to for a very long time. The sisters who had housed him, though entirely non-magical, had a fond place in his memory as well.

All in all, he could have done with spending another few months here.

He laughed at the thought. They were here to fight a war, not to take a magical holiday, after all.

"I wonder if Smith ever feels like this," he said, to himself, to his horse or to Alexander. Neither of them answered the question, though.

They reached the top of a hill, and as Colborne shifted his weight to adjust for the change of slope, a hot dash down his back told him that Alexander had once again taken cover.

Frowning, he reined in his horse, turning it in a narrow circle.

This time when he stretched out his magic, it brushed against a bit of misplaced Water some way behind him. The feeling he got suggested that it was trying to blend with the surrounding magics the same way Alexander was trying to hide in his clothes.

It still didn't feel malevolent, in spite of obviously following him while trying to remain unseen. If anything, it felt… shy.

Hadn't he been told something about shy elementals?

He turned his horse back the way he had just come, loosely holding on to the magic he had discovered.

Although he half-expected it to move away from him, he closed the distance quickly.

Apparently, having been discovered and knowing that it had been, it had given up the attempt to remain unseen.

He nearly missed it at first. His magic told him that he was near, but he did not see anything in the place where he expected it to be.

Circling that spot, he shifted his sight and focused until outlines slowly took shape.

For an elemental that had about the amount of magic that an undine – or, indeed, a Lamia – did, it was huge. Had Colborne dismounted, it would have towered over him. As it was, its head was roughly at a level with his. Maybe that was why it was so insubstantial, or maybe that was part of its desire to hide.

"I mean no harm to you," Colborne assured it – him, for it clearly had a shape roughly resembling a human male once it was solid enough before his eyes to discern details. That confirmed his suspicion. "You are a male Lamia, aren't you?"

 _Mairu_ , came its response, somewhat hesitant, but in a magical voice that was as clear as that of his new ally.

The Elemental's shape further condensed and Colborne could see that he wore the dress of the local men, with what seemed like a bundle slung over his shoulder and a staff with an indiscernible tool at one end in one hand.

None of those things were as real as everything non-magical was real, of course. They were representations of the elemental's magic, as he had learned, given specific shape and detail by the expectations of the Masters the elemental had started his existence around. Harry had told him that the stronger the Master, and the more contact he had with his element, the more he often came to resemble the essential features of his main elementals. This seemed to be true the other way around as well, he had found, though much more evident with Undines and Sylphs than with Salamanders. The way they wore their hair, the way they shaped their garments – or what passed for them – changed from place to place, growing more distinctive the closer they were living to human Masters.

"Mairu," Colborne repeated the Basque word. "Very well. You were following me."

The Elemental inclined his head slightly.

"Can I do anything for you?"

Confusion was evident on the Mairu's face. _Master?_

Colborne tried for a patient smile. "I assume you followed me for a reason."

 _We build,_ the Elemental said, as though that explained everything.

"I am not currently in need to anything built," Colborne pointed out gently.

_We make bridges._

That would surely be helpful when having to cross a river with the brigade, though Colborne doubted he could explain how a bridge had come to pop up over night – and he could just about imagine what Barnard would find to say about elemental-built infrastructure.

"I don't require a bridge today," he said, not bothering to explain the part about Barnard.

 _Some day_ , the Elemental said. He cocked his head slightly as he watched Colborne. _I will be there when you need it._

Colborne doubted that. "I am leaving the area tomorrow," he explained. "But I think you for the sentiment."

The Elemental's face changed, and for a moment Colborne had the impression that it regarded him like a teacher regarded a slightly dense pupil. _I will come along._

That took him by surprise. Why would an elemental he had never met before, a _shy_ elemental to boot, decide to latch on to him? The more he studied him, the less he was even sure what Element it belonged to. There was Water in it, sure, but he could also feel Earth – the unspoiled kind of Earth that Bob had in him, but stronger and cleaner even than the Brownie's.

"I don't think you want to do that," Colborne said.

 _Aemelia is coming_.

So the little Lamia had already shared her name, and the news. Colborne nodded. "She will. She asked me to."

_I go where she goes._

Colborne groaned. So these elementals not only came in dual genders, they also mated for life? It would have been nice to know about that beforehand. "There will be many people around," he cautioned. "Many masters. Most of them of Fire."

 _I know,_ came the reply, not very enthusiastic, but decisive. _I will keep a distance, but I will be there if you wish to make use of me, Master._


	40. Chapter 40

They reached their post near Orthez not long before sunset.

Colborne and Napier arrived riding side by side. Their horses' steps turned more lively as they approached the river.

The patch of land that was their destination was already teeming with soldiers. Colborne slid from his saddle and landed lightly next to his horse, waiting for Napier to follow suit slightly more clumsily. Colborne winced in sympathy. He remembered all too well how he had felt when he had returned after a year and a half away from active duty, unused to the long marches or to spending all day on horseback. He could just about imagine how stiff his friend was feeling right now.

Napier stretched and groaned, not even bothering to hold his horse's reins.

The other man looked around. He spotted their commander in chief perched on a rock by the river, frantically scribbling on a piece of paper that he held on his knees.

Alexander's tail tightened on his human friend's arm at the sight. The Salamander was still wary of Wellington, though on some days more than on others. The duelling practice certainly hadn't improved their relationship.

While he was sure that Wellington had noted his arrival - he wasn't hiding his magic that completely, preferring to meet the local masters honestly to pretending to be what he no longer was -, the older man gave no indication of having done so. Taking his cue from that, Colborne turned his attention back to his companion. "I hope you'll get a billet with a good hot bath," he told him with a smirk. Napier frowned at him. "Given my luck, the hottest bath I'll find tonight is going to be the river," he grumbled. "If you'll take my horse for a moment, I'll find out where we're going to stay." A nod of his head indicated the quartermaster, just walking into view with a notebook in one hand and a scowl that seemed a permanent feature of his face.

Without replying, Colborne took the other horse's reins to lead both mounts to the water's edge so they could drink. It was a welcome excuse to say hello to the local water elementals and ensure them and himself that there were not going to be any problems on the magical level.

The river surprised him. After leaving the cleansed area they had spent the second half of their winter in, Colborne had found himself feeling slightly off for most of the way here. Even where it was not contaminated by fighting and death, the land was inhospitable by comparison to what he had gotten so used to that he had almost taken it for granted towards the end.

This place was no different. The land, the air and the fires that had already been lit by some were filled with harmless, elementals of the only kind he had known until a few months ago: Not wild, but also not as impeccably groomed as his more recent friends had been; a little feral, maybe.

In the water, the situation was different. The elementals splashing around in there were closer to undines and naiads than to lamiak, but they shone with the same kind of pure magic that he had seen everywhere around their winter quarters.

There may not have been a great many Masters around, but there certainly was at least one, and he - or she - shared his own element.

They had felt his approach before he had even come into view of the river - of that he was certain.

The surprise they were showing him when he extended a magical greeting to them was so put-on that he almost laughed out loud.

 _Greetings_ , he told them through their shared magic, avoiding audible words that would have been hard to explain to the assorted non-magical men in his vicinity.

If his horse had been physically able to, Colborne was sure it would have rolled its eyes at the splashed response. Napier's animal, less used to such antics, pulled back slightly, pulling the reins taut for a moment before realising that its equine companion wasn't showing the least indication of concern.

 _Greetings_ , the elementals finally replied. _What are you doing here, Water Master?_

 _I'm passing through with the army_ , Colborne said. _All these men here. We will not stay for long._

He thought he could sense a trace of disappointment.

 _Too bad_ , they confirmed after a moment. _Many Fire Masters. They are reluctant to come to the water, but we are smart. We find ways to play with them._

And to soak them, no doubt, Colborne thought, but he kept that to himself.

 _I would talk to your Master and introduce myself if he is near_ , he said instead.

The sound of their laughter rose from the water and floated around Colborne almost like a tangible thing. _Very near_ , they said. _Very near indeed._

Then, without another word, they dove under the surface, their splashing renewed.

"Playing with the undines?"

Colborne turned sharply at the sound of a human voice before realising that it was Napier who had spoken. "George," he said with a sigh. "Don't do that to me."

"We're at war, Jack," George pointed out. "You need to pay better attention to what's behind you."

"My own regiment is behind me," Colborne muttered. "It was what you said, not that you said it. What if the wrong people hear?"

George shrugged. "We can always claim it's a secret code between us. Our billet is that way." He pointed upriver, where a single building stood at the end of a cobblestone street that led almost all the way to the river.

"Our?"

"We're supposed to share. Do you mind?"

Colborne shook his head. If he had been allowed to pick the man he shared his quarters with. George would have been second right behind Harry Smith. He turned away from the river.

"Let's go and move in then."

*

The miller and his wife were already waiting for them. At first, Colborne thought they'd been anxious about being left with non-magical guests. It was clear from the moment they arrived that the Masters in charge of the river were living here. The entire mill and its surroundings blazed with Water magic that made him tune down his magical sight to keep from being blinded to everything else by it.

The woman's face lit up when she saw them, and her husband suddenly sported a smile that had to be genuine. He stepped forward to take their horses, trying to assure the two officers that he would rub them down and feed them by lots of gesturing.

Colborne returned the smile. "Thank you, good Sir," he said in fluent French. "They will appreciate it, and so do we."

If possible, their smiles widened at the recognition that they did indeed have a language in common to communicate in. The miller's wife threw open the door and ushered them inside.

"Come, come! Take a seat! You must be tired after your long journey. I will have dinner for you in a moment."

They exchanged a look. Their eyebrows went up at the same moment, and they almost laughed.

The woman went on, talking at a speed that made Colborne wonder if she ever needed to breathe at all.

"We were so glad to hear that we would get some officers quartered with us. Everyone knows places are safer when they have officers in them. English officers, that is, not French officers. I regret to say, those do not treat the people or the land well. But everyone now knows that in times like these, there is nothing safer than housing a good, honourable English officer. And we got two! Our mill will surely be safe now!"

She was bustling around the kitchen area of the large room. Colborne noted that the table seemed to be meant for more than two people: A bench ran along the wall on two sides of it, the corner occupied by a cross and a candle, decorated with plants he did not recognise.

He took one side of the bench, indicating for George to take the other and leave the chairs to their hosts.

"We will do our best," Colborne said when she finally interrupted her monologue. He tried for a wild shot to divert her from the subject of how she expected the English officers to protect them and their property. He wasn't sure he'd be quite able to live up to that. "Will your sons be joining us for dinner?"

"No," she said, the word harsher than the rest of her speech. "They left us to go to war and have not been back since. The army wants many men like them. Does yours?"

Colborne didn't miss the emphasis. She was talking about Elemental Masters.

"They take them of course, but they don't specifically seek them out," he explained. At least he had not heard anything to the contrary. Most of my fellow officers don't know we exist."

She looked at Napier. "He's a witch, I assume?"

About to sputter a no, Colborne was surprised to hear Napier speak up to confirm. He stared at his companion.

His reaction did not remain unnoticed, and Napier elaborated in English. "A non-master and non-mage who still uses elemental magic now and then," Napier said. "I can't see your little friends, but I can draw a circle and ward my sleeping place."

That was news to Colborne "I've never seen you do that!" In fact, he hadn't known it was possible, but he was sure he would have noticed on the way from their winter quarters. They had spent several nights camping instead of billeted in proper quarters, after all.

Napier shrugged. "I don't, where the others might see it. I can't see the magic, so I'd need a visual to mark where a shield goes, and I can just about imagine what people would say if they saw me draw a line around my tent."

Colborne didn't think he needed to imagine that. It surely would not go down very well.

Before he could ask another question, a plate loaded high with food was put in front of him, an unmistakable order to shut up and eat.

*

Sunrise saw them up and already mounted again, taking the positions allotted to them. The main bridge crossing the river had been declared impassable by their commander by agreement with the French Marshal. It appeared that instead of letting the French destroy it to keep Wellington's forces from crossing, the man had simply promised that the bridge would be considered off limits by his troops.

Colborne could see that he had taken good care to keep it that way. It took him something of an effort to even see the bridge over the deflecting magic on it – magic with a signature he knew well – and even when he did, he could see that something was guarding it. He shuddered as he rode past, suddenly enveloped in a gust of cold.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he realised that he had just seen one of Wellington's elementals for the first time.

They forded the river easily. The French might have tried to talk the elementals into making it hard for them, but thanks to the friendly millers' couple and their firm grasp on the water downstream of the mill, Colborne barely needed to touch the little creatures to make them relent.

Colborne hoped that his new mairu friend would not be too sad about not having been needed to build a bridge. The area was a bit too lively for a suddenly-appearing structure like that to remain unnoticed.

Once they had engaged, the fighting wore on through much of the day, neither side gaining much of an advantage.

Magic flew through the air alongside the balls and bullets, but the forces on either side appeared well matched in that as well. Colborne's phoenixes, while out and about, kept a rather leisurely pace in their circling. They knew that their Master was not close enough to enemy fire to be in any kind of actual danger yet.

Riding down the path to lead his men where they had been sent, Colborne passed just below a small outcropping from which the Commander in Chief and his secretary were observing the goings-on below.

"Colborne!" that familiar voice called.

Instead of continuing on his way, Colborne pulled on the reins to slow down, then turned his horse to face Wellington. His men stopped their marching to avoid having to walk around their colonel. "Sir?"

Wellington pointed across the countryside away from the street. "Ride down there and see if you can take some artillery through there."

With a nod and a brief touch to the brim of his cap, Colborne wheeled and set off at a brisk pace, though not before giving George a sign to continue with the men.

'Down there' lay marshland, and as marshes tended to, it was covered in soaked ground that would mire anything heavier than a light horse. That Wellington had pulled him away from his previous orders and sent him that way told him what exactly he was supposed to check for. This, he assumed, was the kind of thing the Field Marshal had meant when he had said that magically Colborne would answer directly to him.

He spread out his magical awareness along the ground, checking the depth of the water. It wasn't as bad as he had feared, or as bad as it looked from above. Fed by rain rather than ground water, the soaked layer went barely a foot down – enough to keep a cannon from advancing, making it hard for cavalry to pass and giving infantry the worst set of wet and dirty socks, but not too much to deal with.

Pulling that much water away would surely leave him exhausted, but he was certain that he could dry out a path to move whatever Wellington needed moved through it. It might raise a question or two, but if he left some water, he could always claim that either the mud just didn't go down as far as it had seemed at first, or declare that his hosts had told him of a safe way to pass if he was asked. If there was such a way, the locals that weren't Water or Earth Masters surely would know of it, after all.

As he returned at a gallop, he was surprised to find his regiment still waiting. His eyes found Napier, who shrugged and pointed at their supreme commander in response to the unasked question. The one-armed man had knotted his reins and looped them over the pommel of his saddle. Apparently they were not worth holding while he was just standing there.

"I can take about anything through there, Sir," Colborne reported.

"Start with your regiment," Wellington returned. "Don't bother to run back and forth for commands once you're through. I trust you'll be able to tell how to proceed."

The corner of Colborne's mouth twitched. "Yes, Sir."

Barnard surely would not like this – neither Colborne being diverted from his previous orders, though those had been given to him by Alten, who was another non-magical officer at least, nor him again being put in charge of the men by the express orders of the Field Marshal.

Well, that was something they would have to deal with later. Maybe there was some slight hope that it wouldn't be relayed to Barnard anytime soon.

He sent out a web of his magic as soon as he approached again, forming a magical ridge from which the water could run off to either side, but without drying the ground out all the way. In another situation, he might even have pulled some power into himself in the process, but there wasn't much magic in the water here. It was stale, having stood in place without any place to go to, for too long.

What little there was, he left behind. It tasted as stale as the water felt, and he had no desire to have it in himself unless he absolutely had to.

Considering briefly, he tied off the magic and left it in place once he came out on the other side of the waterlogged range. With nothing much to feed the magic, it would dissipate soon, but for a short time at least others would have the opportunity to follow in their tracks. When the ground gave again, he could always say it was because too many feet had trampled across.

They crossed the marsh, the men following Colborne's lead cautiously at first, then more and more confidently. Their commander obviously knew where he was leading them.

Thanks to their improved shortcut, the other road was within easy reach.

Just as the men filed onto the hardened ground again, Colborne waiting on his horse by the road and watching, making sure that there was no need for last-minute interventions in the direction they had just come from, riders appeared at the top of the ridge that was to be their next destination.

Colborne only spared a brief glance to make sure of their uniforms. Then he waited. He might as well coordinate with his fellow Englishmen away from the French eye.

Followed by a division of unhappily retreating men, Sir Lowry Cole rode up to Colborne, where he brought his horse to an accurate halt. "We have to retreat, Colborne," he announced, sounding a lot more anxious than his mount appeared. In fact, looking at the mare, one would have thought they were having a leisurely Sunday afternoon ride. Even her rider's fidgeting couldn't disturb her.

Cole, however, was flushed and worked up enough for both of them. "They have the better position, they know the area, they have more men – we must retreat and regroup! How did you get here so quickly anyway?" He frowned at Colborne's men. The last he had heard of them had them in quite a different corner of the battlefield. They didn't look as if they had run in full gear.

"My hosts were so good as to tell me of a safe route through the marsh," Colborne said, allowing a little annoyance to creep into his voice. Hopefully, Cole got the message that 'we have more important things to deal with here' and didn't press any further. "What's going on behind that ridge?"

While listening to Cole's rushed explanation, he sent out his magic as well, probing. Elementals were still too unreliable to use for information, but he would at least be able to tell how many Masters they had over there.

Before he was done, an unmistakable sound cut through the air above them.

All eyes went up, fixed as one on the dark shape that was speeding over the ridge.

Some of the men, figuring it would come close enough to crush them, scattered.

Colborne tightened his hands on the reins. The phoenixes were much better at calculating trajectory than him, and they weren't trying frantically to shoo him away.

The cannon ball hit a few yards from him – far enough to do no harm other than pelt him with a rain of small stones that it displaced, but close enough to startle his horse.

For a precarious moment, he clung to the animal's neck, fighting to stay in the saddle as the gelding reared, pawing the air and clearly stating his dismay at the treatment he had just received without being aware of any misstep on his part.

Cole's mare was half shielded by Colborne's horse, but somehow he didn't think that was the only reason she didn't join in.

"Is that horse for sale?" he asked with a nod to the other animal once his own was firmly back on the ground and he was straightening up in the saddle.

The other man laughed. "Don't think so," he said. "What do we do now, Colborne?" He pointed to where more men appeared over another ridge to their left. Another one of their divisions was beating a hasty retreat.

Colborne let his eyes and his magic roam the terrain again. If they marched right across the ridge, they would be met by the French and beaten back easily. They had to go around and come in at an angle where they weren't expected.

Given the way the hills were laid out, that meant going back into the march.

He probed it. It was deeper than the part they had come through. He could dry it out, but it would take time, and time was something he didn't have.

Not entirely dry then, he decided. Just safe enough to walk through. It wouldn't be far. They'd be seen, but if they could make it over, they would have some high ground of their own to work from.

"Down there," he pointed his men, "through that low part and then up the hill. I'll show you the way. Where a man on horseback can pass without getting stuck, a man on foot can, as well."

Without waiting another moment, he turned, trotting down across the soggy ground again. His horse wasn't happy – maybe he was still thinking this was part of the punishment for whatever had caused the earlier pounding – but obeyed, stepping high to lift his hooves from the deep mud that remained even after Colborne sent his magic ahead to clear the path.

The men behind him followed in an orderly file, pretending quite convincingly that they were neither walking through calf-deep mud, nor being shot at from both sides now.

Once again, what Colborne had perceived earlier proved to be true. Shooting down from a height was much harder than shooting up. The balls that flew at them passed over their heads harmlessly.

He put his heels to his horse to speed up his pace, making the top of the hill he had picked for his men well in advance of anyone else. Turning, he waved his cap with his good arm. The ground up here was dry enough even without his magic. It would be as good a place to work from as it had seemed.

With a smile, he received the first of his men, directing them where he wanted them. He spared a brief glance for Cole, who was still standing by the road, gaping at the display.

They had a fine view of the pass from where they were, and that was where Colborne focused his men's efforts. If they could get the French away from there, Wellington would be able to send as many men over as he liked.

He heard a horse approaching from behind, and ignored it until Napier skidded to a halt next to him.

"Jack," he called out, "March is hit!"

Colborne turned, taking in Napier's horrified expression but shaking his head. "I think you mistake me for Harry Smith," he said, keeping his voice so low that only the two of them could hear over the noise of the muskets. "I have no medical skills and no magic that's useful for treating wounds. Have him taken to safety and seen to by someone who has either one of those."

Napier hesitated for another moment, the information clearly going round his head first before connecting. Once that happened, he nodded, turned his horse using only his knees and galloped off again.

The colonel returned his attention to the battle at hand. They were making good progress, the French losing their confidence in the steady fire directed at them.

Another rider came up, riding the long way around and leaning low over his horse's neck to present a smaller target. The horse was that of Wellington's secretary Somerset, leaving Colborne in little doubt as to the identity of the rider.

Somerset only sat up straight again when he had reached them. "Colborne! I have no idea how you got here, but you're to stay where you are! You're not to advance any further." He sounded so out of breath as if he had just run up the hill instead of his horse. While receiving Colborne's nodded acknowledgement, he looked around. His eyebrows went up when he saw the French were faltering and preparing for a retreat. "We're doing it! We're clearing the pass!"

They were indeed. Colborne reached for his cap again, holding it up high and waving in the direction of the greater part of the army, in the hope that someone would see and interpret correctly. As an afterthought, he shot up a spike of magic, Water mixed with as much Air as he could handle. He knew better than to try and use Earth on a battlefield, and even with his Alliance he would not try to use Fire that way anywhere. Though most men would miss it, their commander would certainly be able to see the magic even if he himself was too far away.

His horse, however, did notice and, still nervous from the earlier incident, reared up once more.

As the French retreated, Colborne decided that the order not to advance did not extend to not changing position sideways. He let his men move on to the next ridge, in a better position to defend what they had gained.

They arrived nearly at the same time as their commander in chief with his staff. Uncharacteristically for him, Wellington did not barge in at a full canter. His horse was walking at a sedate pace, and so were the ones of the men around him. The Field Marshal's face looked a bit strained.

Colborne rode to meet them, saluting quickly. His eyes fell on Wellington's right leg, where his breeches were torn and the white stained with blood that had barely begun to dry. His sword was missing. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the older man cut him off.

"If one more man asks about my health, I will have him court-martialled," Wellington promised. "It is barely a scratch."

In spite of quickly biting his lip, Colborne could not fully suppress a smirk. Field Marshal Wellington may have been wounded – as far as he knew for the first time in his life – but it seemed that the concern of his fellow officers was putting his patience to the test a lot more than the injury.

On second thoughts, Colborne mused, maybe he hadn't been wounded in the strict sense after all. Maybe he had just taken a stupid fall off his horse. He was sure he'd hear about it one way or the other soon enough.

"I wasn't going to ask," he claimed, bowing slightly as he indicated the open pass and the retreating French with a wave of his left hand. "It's all yours, Sir."


	41. Chapter 41

They moved into town the next morning, expecting to stay anywhere between a single night and as long as a week or two. They had let the French retreat in peace the day before, not chasing after them to make prisoners out of the stragglers or discourage them from setting up camp too close by.

Now, men had been sent out to ascertain the new situation and report back. In the meantime, they were moving into positions that would be easier to defend, should the French decide to attempt to take back the pass.

Harry and Juana rode with Colborne and Napier, laughing and shaking their heads over Barnard's latest outburst the night before.

"He's not just unhappy with you now," Harry pointed out. "Last night he was actually complaining about 'that upstart Wellesley', taking you away from your previous orders on what surely was mage business instead of proper soldiering."

While Colborne said nothing to that, Napier grunted with a sound somewhere between laughter and annoyance. "That mage business saved us the long way around, the battle and the day," he pointed out. "General Barnard needs to get a grip on his mage problem before he does something immensely stupid."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "He's not a bad officer, I doubt he would let even his dislike for magic goad him into doing anything quite—"

"Like calling the Field Marshal an upstart to his face," Napier suggested. "I bet he'd just love that."

The sound of their horses' hooves changed with the change from dirt road to cobblestone as they rode between the first buildings.

As usual, the locals greeted them quite positively, nodding and smiling where they passed.

A few more turns, and Harry pulled on his horse's reins, coming to a halt at the branch of a street. "Looks like they set up the hospital down there," he said. "I'll ride down and offer to help and join up with you later – my billet won't run away and they'll be glad for every pair of hands. Some of that battle yesterday looked pretty bad from where I was standing."

The look he gave Colborne said more than any words could have what he would have given to have been in Napier's place, taking the ridge and eventually, though not physically, the pass at Colborne's side.

Juana turned her horse as well, as if by silent agreement. Colborne and Napier exchanged a glance. Hands would surely be needed, but they had only two good arms between the two of them, and both of them left ones.

"You could visit some soldiers and make them feel better by setting a good example," Juana pointed out, guessing at their thoughts. "Especially right now, when you're yesterday's heroes!"

Napier shrugged and turned his horse with a tap of his boot.

Colborne hesitated another moment before also joining them.

It wasn't that he didn't want to go to the effort of giving some consolation and hope of things getting better to some wounded fellow or another;

It was more that the mere smell of the hospital brought back memories he would have liked to leave buried deep in his mind. Even the hint that the slight breeze carried to where they stood now was enough to make him want to wince in remembered pain.

Alexander's tail tightened warmly around his arm, the Salamander's heat increasing momentarily.

Well, with a little Elemental friend giving him courage, he would surely be able to face anything, right? He smiled at himself as he joined his larger friends.

They met Wellington just in front of the hospital building. In contrast to them, he was on foot. Watching him, Colborne couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't taken a horse even if he had only a short distance to go. The trousers he wore looked borrowed, much looser than the Field Marshal's usual snug white breeches, and he was walking with a limp he didn't even seem to be trying to conceal now.

Then again, maybe getting on a horse was actually more painful than walking. The wound Wellington had insisted was only a scratch must have been to his thigh, going by the torn clothing and traces of blood on the day before, and mounting up did require a man to rest all his weight on one leg, then the other, at least briefly. It was entirely possible that walking, uncomfortable as it looked, was the better choice for him now.

That, of course brought up the question why he wasn't staying home for the day – a question for a braver man to ask, Colborne decided. Even if he was calling the man Arthur when no one else was listening, he wasn't going to presume that much intimacy.

Juana, however, seemed to know no such constraints. She slid off of her horse's back and looked the older man over with a stern eye.

Wellington glowered at her, daring her to challenge his right to be up and about.

They stood for a long moment before Juana broke away with a casual shrug that made clear that she was ending their contest because she chose to, not because she had been stared down. She nodded towards his leg. "I'd put an ice wyrm on that if I were you," she said, sounding like an old school teacher correcting a particularly bad piece of knitting.

The intensity of the man's stare renewed for a moment, and his voice sounded strained for patience when he spoke. "Did I grow a few inches suddenly?" he asked. "Did my hair turn blond? Do I have brown eyes? Am I wearing a red jacket? In short, do I look like Colonel Colborne to you this morning?"

The young woman seemed to seriously consider the question for a moment.

"You do have quite the same kind of nose," she finally decided with a disarming smile.

Harry picked that moment to dismount, down the wrong side of his horse so he could hide his face from Wellington behind the animal's body. Colborne bit the inside of his lip, trying to keep a stern face, while Napier was grinning unabashedly.

Their commander in chief ignored them all. "That is not how I use my elementals," he reminded Juana.

"Suit yourself," she returned. Without another word, she turned away from him, looping Tiny's reins around a ring in the building's wall for that purpose, and hitching up her skirts to avoid a puddle on the way to the door.

Harry moved to put his horse next to hers. "Brave," he muttered in Wellington's direction as he passed him. "I wouldn't refuse a suggestion she makes in that tone."

"I'm not married to her," the older man informed him, as coldly as the elemental Juana had recommended. "I don't have to obey her suggestions."

"Why, Sir," Napier had dismounted in the meantime and was getting ready to tie up his horse as well. "Never took you for one to enjoy being in pain."

He ignored the glare he got for that, knowing fully well that his comment would have no consequences as long as it was made where only friends could hear. Wellington still felt that he had something to make up to him for pushing him back down from his post as regimental commander by replacing Colborne with Barnard. He was sure his brother missed no opportunity to drive that home, even after the severe tongue-lashing he had bestowed on George for declining the staff position Wellington had offered him.

A moment later, Colborne and Wellington were the only ones left in the street.

Brown eyes met blue ones for a moment.

"Not a word, Colborne," Wellington cautioned as he saw the sparkle in Colborne's.

"I wasn't going to say a thing," Colborne claimed, his voice as unmoved as most of his face.

 

*  


They stayed for a few days before moving again, pursuing the French at a more leisurely pace than usual. Wellington was back in the saddle and galloping this way and that, but it was hard to miss that he would have done well to take Juana's advice concerning his wound: when on the ground, he was still limping a week later.

Barnard never said a word to Colborne about his trip across the marsh with his men. In fact, he said very little that was directed at the Colonel at all.

By April, they had chased their enemy to Toulouse.

Colborne woke before daybreak, roused by Alexander's constant shifting on his arm.

 _What are you doing, little one?_ Colborne thought at him as he checked the sky with a half-opened eye. It was still dark outside, but he could hear the sounds of men moving about.

He decided that he had probably slept enough anyway, and sat up in bed, reaching for his trousers, which hung over a chair next to it.

Alexander vibrated under his shirt, trembling in a manner that Colborne couldn't quite place between fear and excitement.

There was no magic about but his own and that of his own elementals. Colborne's current hosts were not magical, and he would surely have noticed if anything had breached the shields he put on his room. Following a sudden idea, he raised his eyes to the ceiling, checking for magic up there as well. He wouldn't put it past Uncle to show up again in the middle of the night, back from whatever had occupied him since that day he had argued with Wellington.

Colborne started when a face did, indeed, look down at him. It certainly wasn't Uncle, though.

The room was low. Standing up, Colborne's head almost brushed the beams that held it up.

The _mairu_ had to bend over if he didn't want his head to poke through the ceiling into the room above. It wasn't just that he was crouched over to stay entirely within his Master's bedroom. Everything about him was somehow drooping, his eyes filled with a sadness that Colborne had only seen in dogs that knew they had done something bad, and in elementals that were sure they had somehow failed or angered their masters.

"What is it, Harold?" he asked out loud, his voice as gentle as if he were talking to a child. No matter how he searched his memory, he couldn't think of anything the elemental might have done wrong – or anything he might have done that could have been misinterpreted. He hadn't even seen much of him since Harold had joined his magical household. As he had announced, he mostly stayed out of sight, shy as his kind was said to be, while his wife happily mixed with his previous undines and naiads. Her position, as far as Colborne could tell, came closest to that of lady-in-waiting to Isabel these days. They both seemed quite happy with the arrangement, so he saw no reason to interfere with it.

 _You needed a bridge,_ the _mairu_ said. Even his mental voice sounded sad. _You needed a bridge and you did not say._

"I didn't need a bridge." Colborne frowned, thinking back to the last times he had crossed rivers. They had all either had bridges or been easy enough to ford.

 _You needed a bridge_ , Harold repeated. _They are making one of boats now._

Are they? Colborne almost asked. He realised just in time that they most likely were. Not just because it was Harold who said so, and the _mairu_ knew all about bridges that there was to know, but also because they _did_ , indeed, need a bridge over the Garonne. Near Orthez, Wellington had gotten Soult to spare the bridge by promising not to use it. Here, no such communication had taken place, and they had arrived the previous day just in time to see the last moments of the destruction of the safest and fastest way to cross.

"That is Lord Wellington needing the bridge," Colborne explained. "Not everyone knows about magic, not everyone knows about you – it would be very strange to have a bridge spring up where there previously was none. Too many people watching, do you understand?"

The Elemental nodded, though hesitantly and not at all certain.

"I did warn you we wouldn't have much work for you," Colborne reminded him. "We really need to play by the rules, and the rules say no suddenly appearing bridges."

He was reasonably sure that that rule was not written anywhere, but if Harold took that as an explanation he wouldn't have to figure out an elemental-compatible one at… what?

Pulling out his watch, he only glanced at the hands before snapping it shut again and stuffing it back into its pocket. It was barely four in the morning.

"Harold," Colborne said carefully.

The _mairu_ looked expectantly down at him.

"Can you maybe check up and down the river if there are any bridges there?" He was certain that if there had been any within reach, the men outside wouldn't be preparing a crossing by boat, but he entertained hopes that giving Harold a task, even one that was essentially useless to him, would make the elemental feel better. He didn't need to know that it was useless, after all.

Harold's face lit up, and without any kind of verbal answer, he stepped through the walls and outside.

"Let's get dressed," Colborne told Alexander once they were alone, earning an amused twitch of the Salamander's muzzle. "I'm sure they'll have work for us outside, no matter the hour."

 

*

 

There was work to be done indeed. As the army crossed the river Colborne keept up a loose communication with the elementals. They would have quite liked to at least thoroughly splash the Fire Masters crossing their home. Colborne couldn't help but think that most of those with magic in the army would have much preferred Harold's solution to the predicament of the lost bridge to the wobbly crossing that they had.

A march awaited them on the other side. Knowing that they had been watched all morning, they had no reason to not take the direct route. The enemy was forewarned anyway.

If he had been in charge, he might have called off the attack for this day, to reassess and possibly redistribute his forces a little.

As it was, he could understand that driving the French deeper back into their own country was necessary to end the war speedily. He knew they should not give the other side the opportunity to regroup and catch their collective breaths either.

Still, he had rarely gone into any battle with a worse feeling than this one.

The French were ready to receive them along the ridge of the heights of La Pugade. They should have been at a disadvantage, once again shooting down so that most balls passed harmlessly overhead, but they clearly had no intention of giving up these heights as easily as they had the Rhune a few months ago.

In fact, no two battles could have been less alike than these.

Colborne watched with apprehension as the Spanish divisions that had been ordered to commence the attack in his part of the battlefield marched up the hill. He liked to think that his 52nd, though he would have hated to lead them up these unprotected slopes right now, would have cut a much better picture. Already he could see the men on the hill falter, slow down and hesitate in their advance. They were obeying orders but their hearts were no longer in it. They probably saw no point in fighting on French soil to begin with, now that their own country had been cleared.

As the first of the Spaniards fell to French fire, their approach grew even more halting. Colborne strained to see through his spyglass, sending up a silent prayer that this would not turn into the disaster he half saw coming.

His thoughts and observation were interrupted by a flurry of Phoenix wings diving out of the sky, too solid to see through for a moment, followed by a sudden feeling of vertigo as something hit him from the left and sent him tumbling off his horse.

Without even a glance at his spyglass, rolling a few feet away and probably broken now, he surged back to his feet. One quick look around showed him that his horse had taken the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat.

He looked up at the hill, where even the unaided eye could now clearly see that the Spaniards had decided that they were not interested in fighting on French ground anymore, and orders be damned. There was a surge of Spanish uniforms coming down the slope at a full run, hands clasped to hats to keep them from flying away, muskets waving.

Sending a brief mental note to Flambeau, asking him to encourage his horse to come back speedily, Colborne set off at a run to join his men, who were waiting for the command to commence their own attack.

"Stop them!" He heard one of his captains yell as he gestured at the fleeing soldiers. "Don't let them run!"

"No!" he shouted back, hoping to be heard over the noise. "Let them go! They'll just be in our way!"

He scrambled up to where his officers were standing, their attention turned momentarily to their approaching superior.

With a few brief commands, Colborne sorted his men, and watched with some satisfaction as they sprang into action on his words. Oh yes, _his_ 52 nd would not recoil from the French up on that ridge!

For a fleeting second, he thought of sending along some of his magic, to help his men carry the ridge. A brief expansion of his mind confirmed what he had already known – doing so, while certainly feasible, was nothing but a very last resort for him today, for there were no masters among the soldiers waiting for them. Attacking an entirely unmagical enemy with magic, or even using it to gain an unfair advantage for his own men… it would have been wrong. He knew, from Harry and the other masters of his brigade, that sometimes a Master would find loopholes to work with, scan until he could find the traces of magic among the enemy and thus justify his intervention.

As far as he was concerned, that was not an option. Unless there was a Master, or at the very least a very strong mage up there, or the enemy attacked him first, he would not use magic for an attack. Self-defence was a different matter, of course.

"Colonel!"

Colborne turned from watching his men deploy according to his commands, to see a junior officer holding out a scarf to him. He must have looked confused, for the man gestured to his left arm.

The crimson fabric of his coat was turning darker around a tear in his sleeve, just below the elbow. Once acknowledged, the wound, previously kept at the back of his mind as a dull ache from the impact, started to sting as it should.

Pushing the pain from his mind, he accepted the piece of cloth and awkwardly wrapped it around his arm with his right hand. "Just a scratch," he assured the younger man.

It was. He knew what a bad wound felt like, and this wasn't it. Harry would probably insist on cleaning it with Fire anyway. That was not something he was looking forward to. Though he had never experienced the treatment himself yet, he had watched it often enough to be under no illusions as to what it felt like.

People had lost limbs from less, however, and no wound ever festered after a Fire Master had been over it.

Someone pushed reins into his hand the moment he was done, and Colborne put his foot in the stirrup to mount with only a cursory glance at the animal. It wasn't his own, and he could only hope that it would neither drop him nor panic at the sight of his Phoenix protectors. His attention was already back on the battle, though, and it was better to lead his men from horseback than on foot.

"We'll have those heights now," he declared as he turned the horse and carefully touched his spurs to his sides. "We'll show them what it means to face real soldiers."


	42. Chapter 42

"Well, they need men in America."

They were sitting in Colborne's room, discussing options. The end, though there had been rumours, had come more quickly than anyone had expected after all. One moment they had been expecting to possibly face battle again the next day, the next news of Bonaparte's abdication had reached them. The town had been handed over to them without any further shots being fired. The war had ended.

It still felt hard to believe after so many years.

With the war over, though, other things needed to be taken care of.

For one, there was Harry. He needed active duty to get the promotion he was still waiting for, and he certainly needed the pay that came with it for his little family. So far it might have been only him and Juana, but Colborne had no doubts that that would change soon enough.

That made him think of his own situation, as well.

He was, after all, a married man, though so far married only on paper. He had a wife waiting for him at home, her family closely linked to his by two of his sisters already having married into it.

His magic getting away from him was no longer any concern. No one would have found fault with his control these days. However, serving in Moore's Magical Brigade, as Napier had called it, the necessary secrecy had been limited. Most of the men in the brigade either had at least some marginal amount of power, knew of it or suspected something – people were used to shrugging it off when something strange happened.

At home, in a family unfamiliar with elementals or magic, he would have to be a lot more careful than he was used to. It wasn't something he could explain to them – not really. He couldn't expect them to believe him. His stepfather had been a man of the church. He knew by now that though the church, too, had the odd mage or master among its servants, many deeply religious men and women reacted badly to the suggestion of the existence of magic.

What if he wasn't good enough at hiding his magic? There would surely be elementals around – would he get enough opportunity to seek them out and become familiar with them or would he have to insult them by ignoring their presence because he couldn't risk anyone noticing what was going on? He knew there was no need to speak out loud with them, but he kept doing it anyway. What if someone saw him talking to nothing? Would they assume the hardships of war, and his wound, had broken his mind?

Harry had assured him that there were Mages and Masters who married unmagical spouses and who never let them in on the secret, and successfully kept their special skills hidden from their families. Could he do that? He did not see how a marriage could survive such a secret being kept.

He couldn't see how his marriage could survive it not being kept.

If he took his wife into his confidence, how would she react? Hers, too, was a religious family.

His best chance probably was to be back off with the army as soon as he could, away from the people he loved but would have to keep a secret from in future – that secret pertaining to a part of his life that had grown essential to him.

He'd turn into the kind of husband he had never wanted or intended to be, at home for a few nights and then gone again, leaving his wife to wonder if he had a mistress somewhere.

Oh, to have a family like Harry's to come back to. He could about imagine the Smith's household, with all kinds of elementals everywhere, and no need for secrecy of any kind.

And then, of course, there was the next problem. Surely they would have children. Elizabeth wasn't as young as Juana was, but there was nothing to suggest that theirs would not be a large family.

What if his children would share his magic? Would he be able to ensure that a young mage or master would get the necessary training _without_ the mother catching wind of something going on? Would the untrained powers of a child master – or master-to-be – bring out elementals whose effects were impossible to miss even for those without magical skills of their own?

He sighed, pushing away his thoughts. He would deal with all of that as it came. There was no point in dwelling on it now.

"We will go to America then," Juana simply declared as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

Harry shook his head, the motion uncharacteristically sombre. "No, my love," he said. "They would not let me take you along. The voyage is long and they surely will not want any space on the ships taken up by anyone who's not part of the army, strictly speaking."

Harry's quick reaction told Colborne that his friend had already been thinking about America before he had suggested it.

Something twitched in Juana's face but, uncharacteristically for her, she gave in without even putting up a token fight. "I will be with your family then," she declared, sounding a little subdued to Colborne's ears.

"Tom will take care of you," Harry promised. "He'll take you to England and you can stay with him – I'm sure he will consider it an honour."

"You must write often," Juana said, not betraying what she thought about staying with the younger Smith brother without as much as being introduced to Harry's father first. Her situation would be precarious if anything was to happen to her husband before the family had officially accepted her as a member. Who could know how much Tom’s word would weigh if Harry didn't return.

That wasn't what was on her mind now, though. "I shall be unable to sleep before I know you made it across that ocean safely."

The way she said ocean made the pieces click into place in Colborne's mind. Of course – they were Fire Masters. Crossing the ocean must be one of the worst experiences for them – exposed to a vast expanse of water – and Water, with the huge, old elementals of the depths, untamed, and possibly ready to swallow a Fire Master whole if he got too close to the water. A storm on the waves would put them at even more risk than anyone else. He looked at Harry again. Did he really want to go?

The younger man met his gaze evenly. "When should I sign up?"

Colborne barely considered. "We can ride to Toulouse in the morning."

They had relocated to a castle, some thirty miles away, earlier that month. The landscape was pretty, and they certainly had a good view of the French troops quartered on the other side of the river, though, the war being over, the men were focusing less on keeping an eye on each other, and more on how to pass the time until they could return to their respective homes.

*

Horses were held ready for them in the morning, and daybreak already saw the two friends galloping down the road a good distance from their quarters.

Colborne noticed the difference the moment they rode into Toulouse. He glanced at Harry to see if he showed any sign of feeling the same.

The younger man's expression had tightened just a little, not enough for the unassuming onlooker to notice, but enough to tell Colborne that he was, indeed, not alone in his impression.

There was something off about this town. It wasn't bad, as such. It did not bear the signature feeling of magic gone bad or magic used for evil. It wasn't even the kind of open resistance that he had felt from the rivers at times when a French Water Master had been there before him and primed the elementals not to let the English pass.

And yet, there was nothing of the usual welcoming feeling that he sensed wherever there were elementals around. In fact, he had to strain to spot any of them at all, and when he did, they seemed almost embarrassed to have been noticed.

Whoever had the magic in Toulouse under his command did not desire a strange master to interact with the local creatures.

Harry shrugged, feeling more than seeing that his commander's eyes were still on him. "We're not staying here," he said. "It doesn’t matter."

It might not have, but it put Colborne on his guard anyway.

Leaving their horses in the stables of headquarters, and a coin in the hand of the man who took them to ensure that they would have a proper breakfast of their own and be ready to carry them back when they were done with their business, the two men climbed the two flights of stairs to the adjutant general's office.

"Ah, Colborne," the officer behind the desk said as they entered, with an acknowledging nod at Harry. "Have you come to volunteer for America, as well?"

Colborne shook his head, though for a fleeting moment, he considered putting his name down and putting thousands of miles between himself and the problems his magic would bring when he returned to his family. The thought was quickly banished, though. "Not I, Darling. It's Smith here who wants to go."

Lt.-Colonel Ralph Darling, Adjutant General and in charge of recruiting, grinned at the younger man. "Ah, but he volunteered days ago."

"I did?" Harry asked, surprise reflected equally in his voice and on his face. "Why, isn't that strange, Colonel, seeing how I didn't even know I wanted to go until last night?"

Darling turned the page with the already considerable list of volunteers over, and pointed at one of the very first entries.

There was Harry's name, written in neat letters not even remotely reminiscent of Harry's usual scrawl.

"Very well," Harry said. "It appears that I have already volunteered and we have come needlessly. But who, I'd like to know, had this much foresight?" He squinted at the handwriting, trying to place it.

"That was Sir Edward Pakenham," Darling readily informed him. "Colonel Elley put him up to it, he said."

"He said," Harry repeated. General Pakenham surely would not have been 'put up to' anything by a mere colonel – if he had acted on the suggestion, he had done so because he thought it was a good idea. The young fire master started to wonder if there was anyone who had not thought of sending him to America.

Colborne interrupted his thoughts as he tapped another name on the list. "I know General Ross. If he's in town, I'll recommend you to him as Brigade Major." He looked at Darling, who gave him directions readily.

"Thank you, Colonel," Harry said, because he thought he should be saying something. It appeared that his career in the New World was going to be planned out for him by those much better at these things than he was. That was just fine with him, though he wondered what Juana would say to it.

"If you want to thank me," Colborne replied, already on the way to the door. "Find us breakfast while I find Ross. I'd like to have a bite to eat before we return." He allowed himself a grin. "And maybe while you're at it you can find something nice from town to bring your wife."

"Hardly," Harry's tone was sober. "That requires money. Which I might have if I'd been paid at least once in the last nine months. Do you think they'll actually pay us on time in America?" He half turned back to Darling, who laughingly pointed at the door.

"Out with you now! I have nothing to do with your pay, here or there. Take that up with the quartermaster – you know where he is."

*

Colborne did not have to expend a lot of effort or conviction to interest General Ross in his plans. The man remembered Harry Smith well enough. The brief summary of the young Captain's advantages, delivered by Colborne in a manner that made clear that he meant every word he said, was only formality.

Stepping outside again only minutes later, Colborne sent Alexander to find Harry for him and report on his whereabouts so he could re-join his friend.

"Now this is different," a deep voice observed off to his left.

Colborne turned. The speaker was dressed in work clothes and a leather apron, the tools by his side marking him as a farrier. He must have been called to shoe some of the horses at headquarters.

"A water master speaking to a salamander," the man elaborated when he found that he had the officer's attention.

"So I am," Colborne confirmed. Remembering the way the local elementals behaved, he quickly added: "I brought him with me – he does not belong in Toulouse."

The other man shrugged. "I care nothing for the local masters' exclusive games," he said. "I just come to town when called, and I also bring my own. How does a water master keep a Salamander, though?"

"Long story." Too long to tell it now, too incredible, probably, to bother; Another part of his own predicament came back to mind. He could not take his Salamander friend across the sea with him. The phoenixes might follow him if they chose, but a lesser fire elemental like Alexander had no place on a ship, even if the crossing was not long. "And I fear that it will have to end. I will leave the continent soon."

The man nodded in understanding. Colborne couldn't say quite why, but there was something likable about him. As he was speaking, two salamanders had appeared and were twining around his feet like kittens now. The farrier ignored them, but it was clear to the Colonel that he treated his elementals well.

He had planned to hand Alexander over to one of the fire masters in the army who was staying in France for the moment, someone whom the Salamander already knew. He had not allowed himself to think of the fact that that could only be a temporary solution. Sooner or later, that master, too, would have to return to England, and pass Alexander on to someone else again, or leave him to fend for himself. In any case, there would be no telling where his little fiery friend would end up.

"I… you wouldn't know anyone who could take care of him for me, would you?" he asked. Alexander would surely not like this solution very much, but he could not leave and just let the Salamander find himself a new master on his own. "He may appear a bit peculiar for a Salamander, but he is a very good boy."

That announcement was greeted with a laugh. "I should say that a Salamander working for a water master is peculiar indeed. It can stay with me if it will, but I'll not coerce it."

Colborne nodded. "His name is Alexander," he said. "And I would not leave him with a master who would use violence. He's had enough of that from his last one."

The man's eyebrows went up. "I was not aware the English named their elementals."

"Some of us do." Colborne was spared further elaboration by Alexander's return with directions to breakfast. "I trust you'll be around for a while? I'll see you about this before we leave."

Thinking of handing Alexander over to another made him sad, but he knew he didn't have a choice. He did, however, want to explain it to the little elemental first. Breakfast would hopefully afford him an opportunity to do that.

He could only hope that the Salamander would understand.

*

Colborne stood on deck, looking back at the receding coastline. It was strange, being on a ship across the sea for the first time since his magic had awoken. It was different.

He had never been uncomfortable on the water, or prone to sea sickness. Still, he could feel the difference. He needed no time to adjust to the motion of the waves. In fact, he was moving as easily on deck as he had on solid land, his body adjusting to the sway as if it were part of him.

He had never felt at risk at sea, but now it actually felt like home. It felt as if he were where he should be. For a moment, he almost regretted having joined the army instead of the navy. He could have spent every day like this then, surrounded by his own element.

There were elementals in the sea, swimming along, waving at him and welcoming him in their waters. Though he was only passing, they stopped by to pay him their respects for a moment, and he wondered how much his undines and naiads had to do with that. What had they told their sisters and brothers of the sea?

Bob had taken up residence with his luggage, making sure nothing would get out of order. The phoenixes had disappeared when he had boarded the ship, but something told him that they would find a way to cross the channel and re-join him on the other side.

The loss of Alexander was something he felt keenly, and not only because his shoulder ached fiercely from the lack of heat. He knew that it had been the best decision for the Salamander, and Alexander had eventually, after some discussion, agreed when Eleanor had given him a long and enthusiastic account of the sea and the joys of travelling it – a point of view that the fire elemental could not share, no matter how he might try.

If he ever had reason to return to France, Colborne promised himself, he would check on his friend. He had seen him taken in by the farrier, and his Salamanders had seemed nice enough. Maybe with more company of his own kind, Alexander would barely miss his human friend.

 _Do you have nothing to look forward to, Master_? A voice sounded behind him.

Colborne turned, smiling to himself – or at Harold, depending on whether the onlooker could see the elemental or not. "I'm going home," he said, keeping his voice down. "That is something to look forward to." It should be in any case.

With an effort of will, he pushed aside the fears he had of facing his wife, her family, his family, and keeping his magic concealed from them, as he walked to the other end of the ship and fixed his eyes on the other coastline, the one they were moving towards.

He'd handle those things as they came.

For now, he was going to look forward to coming home.

 


End file.
